Berlin After Dark
by Kagura
Summary: For Lucy, Germany sucks - literally. The Germans seem to hate her, and the only two beverages are blood or beer! But things really go south when she meets her first vampire, the handsome Caspian. He isn't what she expects, but he's exactly what she needs.
1. Coffee

Since everyone is hopping on the vampire bandwagon (Twilight, True Blood, Anne Rice, Count Chocula), I've decided to get on board as well! You know, 'cause I'm highly susceptible to peer pressure. Don't judge me.

You're judging me, aren't you?

Well, stop. Stop now.

I know I have three other stories I need to update. Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned (or whatever); but school caught up to me much quicker than I ever expected. Finals are coming up pretty soon, but then I'll have the entire summer to write like a romance novelist on meth. Those ladies pump out books like that Duggar women pops out babies. Mrs. Duggar needs to be stopped.

ANYWAYS!

Here is my contribution to the vampire community, since I strongly dislike Twilight.

No offense Twilight fans.

* * *

He was watching her again. Whenever she came to the small café, late at night when she finished her last class, that dark eyed man would stare at her. Sometimes it was flattering, when his eyebrows would lift flirtatiously over his lovely eyelashes. Other times it was uncomfortable and unnerving. His narrowed gaze would take on a sharp sort of energy, like he wanted to hunt or just consumer her outright. No matter the underlying emotion, she never responded in kind. The best course of action, when dealing with stalkers, was to just ignore them – no matter how lonely she was.

Lucy had been in Berlin for a little over six months, and her stay hadn't gotten any more comfortable. She didn't speak the language, she had seen every tourist trap there was, like, thirty-seven times, and she was getting nowhere in her studies. She just… wasn't as good as she thought she was. Sure, her passport said she was old enough to drink, but she didn't like beer.

The exchange family had been nice enough, but Frau Knop was a hard woman, and her sons too rowdy to care for the little British girl staying with them. Three of them were still in grade school anyway. Two of them cared for little more than football, lager, and loose women. As for the oldest… he hated her. It was nothing she did, but rather where she was – his bedroom. Herr Knop had decided that is where she would sleep, as guest of the household. Fritz, said eldest brother, said something absolutely foul in German… though he might have been reciting some lovely poem.

Or calling her a foreign bitch with the gates of hell between her legs.

Needless to say, she was having a hard time. She went to school early, came home in the afternoon, and stayed up late pouring over text books. Her life in Germany had not only been dull and lifeless, but isolated. Making friends wasn't her top priority when she first arrived, and because of that, nobody would talk to her – let alone stare at her without shame. It made his gawking all the more intimidating.

The café she was in had once been a small chapel, so there was religious iconography everywhere. It was beautiful and jarring at the same time. The pews were converted into benches for booths and scattered tables. All of the woodwork, intricate and hand-carved, was covered in peeling gold leaf. What Lucy loved best about the café, however, were the stained glass windows. There were six in total, and they were no larger than fireplace screens, but each one was lovingly detailed. Her favorite, and the one she most often sat by, was of the Virgin Mary. Dressed in her blue cloak, she held her dead, grey-skinned son, while a host of mourners wept around her. Lucy was old friends with the image.

Besides the art glass and gothic architecture, Lucy frequented this particular coffee house because it was always quiet. There was always a table where she could complete her homework, and the proprietors were friendly and obliging. It was her sanctuary. That is, until that man started showing up; but there was no point in finding a new haven. This one was three blocks away from the Knop residence, and all of the other cafés would be chock full of unruly students. Finals were coming up. She didn't need the noise.

And so she sat there, sipping a vanilla latte while she fought hopelessly with some rather stubborn algebra problem. The world outside was grey and wet with a cold spring rainstorm, leaving Lucy trapped inside. That was alright. She didn't bother the other patrons, so they wouldn't bother her.

Or so she thought.

A bell chimed as the door to the coffee bar swung open, letting in a shocking gust of frozen wind. Lucy shivered, but she didn't look up. The door closed, but it took a few minutes for the air to warm up. That was no inconvenience at all, though it made her cheeks hurt. What was a nuisance was the groan of the bench just across from her as someone sat down at her table.

"Guten abend, Fräulein. Sprechen Sie Englisch? Mein Deutsch ist schlecht," came a pleasant male voice from the other side of the table. Lucy kept her eyes on her schoolbooks.

"I don't speak German," she said automatically without even looking up.

"Oh good, neither do I. I'm pretty sure I just complemented your yogurt." She heard the rustling of clothing as whoever sat removed their coat. Lucy's eyes rose, peering curiously at the young man who had unexpectedly joined her. He was swarthy with dark brown hair falling around his jaw. His eyes were nearly black, and very cheeky as he looked at her. He smiled a happy smile, his teeth white and perfect from where she sat.

Within seconds of his arrival, an apron-clad waitress with frizzy red hair was at his side, grinning flirtatiously as he placed his order. She walked away with a womanly sway to her abundant hips, but the man with boyish good looks was fixed intently on Lucy. He was soaked to the skin, so much in fact that she could feel the cold coming off him; and yet he kept on smiling, even as he dried his hands on a spare napkin. Lucy could only return his stare with a blank expression – with good reason too.

Slightly distressed under the attention of such a handsome man, she cast a quick glance about the room. There were plenty of empty tables. Actually, it was mostly empty. There were only five of them – her, the smiling young man, that man with the dark eyes, and a rather noisy German couple, probably in their fifties. They were arguing very loudly, and it only sounded that much angrier in German.

"I always wonder what they're saying," he continued in hushed tones. "Eventually, I just add in my own words. For example…" The woman's pitch rose highly, until it was nearly a screech. He leaned across the table to whisper in her ear, and his warm breath against her neck gave her goose bumps. "Albertina bakes mincemeat pies for Ferdinand. He does not like them. Albertina consoles herself by getting breast implants."

Lucy had to duck her head and cover her mouth to keep from laughing, but one giggle did escape. Unseen by her, the man with the dark leer shot her acquaintance an evil glare. As it was, a passing waitress shot her a dirty look.

"Come to dinner with me." The man was whispering into her ear again, and she was immediately drawn to his unusual accent. But still…

"No," she said quickly. "You don't even know my name."

"So, tell me it."

"No."

"Fine, I shall make one up. Sarah? No, too plain. Judith? I could call you Judy. Is Judy close? How about Matilda? Maybe you have a man's name. Charlie? Elliot? Sam?"

"Lucy," she filled in quickly, afraid that he would go on and on. "My name is Lucy."

He fell silent, and for a moment, she thought he was displeased. Maybe he really was just a flirt out to irk her. However, when she looked up at him, he was smiling softly, disarmingly, even affectionately.

"Lucy. I would've figured you as a Vellini or Constantina – something epic and unforgettable."

And that is where he went wrong. Lucy knew she was somewhat under the radar, but her name was forgettable?

His order arrived with the clinking of porcelain. He flashed a disarming smile at the saucy and obviously older waitress. She blushed bright red, and sauntered off like a pleased, arrogant housecat. But he didn't seem to notice her coyness. His black eyes focused on the man who had always, and was still ogling at Lucy. She had to sigh when she realized what he was looking at.

"He always stares at… this table." She didn't want to say 'me' – it sounded too much like vanity.

"You probably smell good to him. I take it you don't drink or smoke?"

_'What…?'_ she thought to herself, looking over her shoulder at the other man briefly. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

He held up a hand to stop her before she questioned her further.

"Do you drink or smoke?"

"No," she said with some pride. "They're both bad for you."

"And they'd probably make your skin taste bad."

Color bloomed on her cheeks like the blush of a peach. "Excuse me! What are you insinuating?"

"He's a vampire," he said nonchalantly with a slight shrug. "They have to get past your skin if they want to drink of you."

Her eyes were as wide as saucers as her mouth fell open. He followed her lips intently with that inky stare. "A vampire? Preposterous!"

He was knocked from his reverie by her disbelief. "Why not? He only comes here late at night and he never orders anything. Am I wrong?"

That was a highly suspicious remark, and her expression betrayed that opinion. "How would you know that?"

"Because he's a _vampire_," he quipped as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And you're a healthy young woman with a fine figure and a pretty face. Most male vampires don't think of anything else while they're still conquering their bloodlust. Sex hasn't probably even crossed his mind yet."

"Has it crossed yours?!" she seethed with a hiss. He was making her uncomfortable now. He was right about everything, as if it was a putrid odor that hung in the air, stinking up the whole place. _'Wait… an odor?'_

"How did you know that I don't drink or smoke?" Her voice trembled with uncertainty. She didn't believe in fairy tales, and vampires were the stuff of myth and bad fiction, but everything he said made awful sense. Maybe the dim light and caffeine was making her head spin.

"You don't smell like it," he said with careful measure. He was focused and intent, all intensity and energy, even though he was deathly still. "You smell whole."

Her heart beat furiously in her chest, making her quiver from the exertion of such a mere thing. Something was very wrong with this beautiful man with his beautiful eyes and jaw line. She could see it now, something otherworldly about this dark man, something ageless and youthful.

"Vampires aren't real," she murmured softly. "You aren't real."

His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply, and those eyes fell matte and lifeless. If she'd hurt him at all, she didn't bother to wait. Faster than a dragonfly's beating wings, she was up and walking away, her expensive text books abandoned carelessly.

"Wait!" he called after her rather loudly, drawing the attention of nearly everyone – except for Lucy. She just walked faster. Before she knew it, she was out the door and on the cobblestone street.

"Lucy, stop! Please, I am begging you to stop." That was enough to stop her, and she spun on her heel to face him. He stood at the base of the café's steps.

"Why should I?!" she called back. It was pitch black now, and they rain still fell. Within seconds she was drenched and freezing. "Either you're a raving lunatic, or I am serious trouble right now. People always say 'this can't be happening', but it is happening. So please, excuse me."

She didn't see him move, but in the blink of an eye he was right in front of her. This close she could get a good whiff of him. Surprisingly, he smelled like lavender and cedar, so unlike a coffin or a tomb. More than that, he was _warm_, so warm. He was taller than her, but not so much that he overwhelmed her; and every inch of him radiated a most inviting heat. She thought it was just his smile, but when he cupper her chilled cheek in his palm, his touch chased away her coldness… and her indifference. With that one caress, with that calloused palm, he warmed from the inside out. There was something thick and heady about him, and she stepped closer so that she could feel it that much stronger.

"I am not a raving lunatic, and neither are you in serious trouble," he whispered against her forehead as her eyes closed of their own volition. His mouth was chapped and just as warm as the rest of him. "I promise not to bite you," he said so sweetly, even as he leaned back. Without his body shielding her from the storm, her face was drenched the moment he pulled away. Her lashes, spiked with rain, fluttered as her eyes opened slowly. She looked drugged and sated.

"What are you doing to me?" she questioned breathlessly. He was staring at her mouth again, and not her throat. Wasn't that a good thing?

"Making you happy," he responded with the same winsomeness she was feeling. "Is that so terrible?"

"Will I be dead by morning?" He laughed, and it made her blood pool like melted chocolate.

"Exhausted maybe. Perhaps even a little tender. But I will be as well."

She had enough presence of mine left to look stern. "I'm not easy."

He grinned. "And I am not bad in bed. I promise to be good to you.

"Give me your name," she insisted determinedly. "Now."

"_Caspian_," he breathed ever so softly. She felt blessed for some reason, like he didn't share his name with people that often.

"I'm an exchange student. I don't have a house of my own." Was it an excuse or a regret?

"I have a house." He sounded so eager and boyish that she had to laugh.

"Why me?" She almost didn't want to know, but the moment would be incomplete if there wasn't a reason for her blossoming infatuation.

"Do you think that man in there is the only one who watches you? I know your face and body – your cheeks, your lashes, your hips. Unlike him, I could only think about how lonely you looked."

She meant to turn away, ashamed that he could read her so easily, but he pinched her chin lightly and tilted her face towards his. "I've felt that same loneliness. Besides anyone who studies as hard as you do must be more than capable of carrying on a decent conversation."

"If you bite me, I will _stake_ you."

He rolled his eyes. "You humans are convinced that works."

"Kiss me before this spell wears off and I change my mind."

He did just that as the rain fell around them, before she changed her mind. As cold and unrelenting as the downpour was, it couldn't stop Caspian's balmy embrace or Lucy's sudden comfort.

_'If all vampires kiss like this,'_ she thought to herself, _'then maybe this is something worth looking into.'_ The thought came unbidden and it struck her to the core. What would sensible, unerring Peter think?

_'To hell with Peter.'_ She had Caspian to think of.

And she thought of him all night long, even when he stole her sanity.

_Especially_ when he stole her sanity.

* * *

Well, there it is! Short and sweet, huh?

Huh? Huh?!

Oh hell, who am I kidding?

This needs an official ending.

* * *

_'Lucy.'_

Even after a night in her arms, he still dreamt of her. They'd enjoyed each other for hours, and by the time they had finished, he was pleasantly exhausted. All men of his kind had extraordinary stamina, their women demanded it. So to be completely undone by a human was incredible. She made his bones sing with exertion until his muscles ached. And yet he still had to force himself to stop, if only for her sake.

She had told him, just before slumber claimed them, that he was much warmer than she thought dead people were. He had not the strength to tell her he had never died, but he would save that for when he thought she was ready to hear it.

As much as he wanted to give her the best wake-up call she would ever receive, he was embarrassed to find that he could barely move, let alone perform.

If he couldn't find gratification on a sexual level, he was determined to at least hold her. She was unbelievably soft, and smelled absolutely wonderful. He would never ask it of her, but he knew by instinct that she would taste magnificent. Thank God he didn't need to drink, otherwise she would be in grave danger.

Though his arms felt like they were anchored to the bed, he reached out for her, but her lithe, svelte body was nowhere to be found.

"You've got to be kidding me," he groaned pathetically. Was she really going to make him get up? "You have three seconds to get back in bed before I… I dunno, but it'll be impressive."

Three seconds passed, and she never showed up. He sighed. It seemed he would have to go after her himself, even though she was rude enough to leave without telling him. Dragging himself out of bed, he seemed more like a zombie than a self-respecting vampire, lurching about from his bedroom to the living room. However, it was almost worth it when he saw a rather frantic Lucy fighting with some drapes.

"What are you doing?" he yawned. Lucy squeaked, and in her surprise, pulled down an expensive set of Dupioni silk panels and the bar holding them up.

"I… uh…" She looked down helplessly at the dark brown fabric pooling around her ankles. "I didn't want you to burst into flames," she finished weakly.

"I'm not that kind of vampire. Now come to bed."

She bristled at the command, which he found adorable, but followed him anyway. The situation called for something romantic, like picking her up bridal-style, but he was just so _tired_. He practically collapsed onto the king-sized bed. Lucy was the one to pull the comforter over them.

"Please tell me you're tired. Otherwise I have completely failed you."

"I can barely walk," she supplied dreamily, soothing his fragile ego with just four words. "Now let me sleep. I have class in the afternoon."

"I'll let you go, only if you promise to let me pick you up. From now on, I don't want you going to the café alone. There could be some lingering jealousy on behalf of the vampire who'd been stalking you."

"Am I in any danger?" she whispered sleepily as he curled around her.

"No." She wasn't, and she wouldn't be, not for as long as he could hold her; and he had forever to hold her.

She would be safe for some time to come.

* * *

I know, I know. This was a one-shot in 'Standing Alone', but one of my favorite reviewers I suggest I let it be its own story.

So, here it is.

Who knows! Maybe it'll turn into something bigger than a one-shot.


	2. Martha Stewart

Another... well, it isn't a chapter, because I can't commit to making this story any longer. Think of it as another one-shot.

* * *

In one night, Lucy went from being lonely and unnoticeable, to having a wonderful boyfriend; one who didn't fit the stereotypical vampire image. It was hard to even reconcile that he was a vampire, but it helped that he was normal – to an extent. He was dark and warm, which was nice, and his hair definitely wasn't perfect. In the mornings it actually looked pretty terrible. That was her fault however. She had a tendency to muss it up during sex.

Sex was one of the few areas where Caspian was anything but human. He was _very_ good, could go for hours, and sometimes used just a _little _bit of glamour to make it particularly fantastic. Not surprisingly, she was always pissed afterwards if she found out about it. Lucy hated all that vampire magic mambo stuff, especially when he used it on her.

Asides from the glamour, sex and fangs, life with her boyfriend was… well, surprisingly domestic. He folded laundry, changed his bed linens regularly, and made breakfast for her in the mornings.

"Do you want bacon, ham or sausage with your eggs?" he asked politely one day, as he whisked several eggs in a glass bowl. He was wearing nothing but a pair of black pajama pants slung low on his lean hips. From her chair, she could see that thin line of hair leading from his bellybutton, until it disappeared into the waistband of his slacks. She loved it so much that she called it his 'happy trail'.

"Bacon would be nice, brown and crispy around the edges." Caspian smiled and strode over to the fridge, where he poked around until he found the meat. Lucy grinned and held her wrists up to her nose. She was wearing his terrycloth bathrobe, and it smelled just like the almond soap he loved using – she wasn't wearing anything underneath it.

"Anything you want, sweet honey-comb." The endearment made her giggle and smirk madly. It didn't make a lot of sense, and it definitely showed his age, but it was just for her.

As the bacon sizzled in a pan that cost more than a pair of Christian Leboutin's, Lucy got a good look at the sleek and well-appointed kitchen. She had never seen him work a day in his life, but Caspian had money, and lots of it. When she questioned him about it, he laughed it off and said something about old money and a high-interest savings account. He never said how old the money was, however. He never said how old he was either. In fact, he never talked about what it was like to be a vampire. Then again, she never asked. But maybe…

"Can you eat food?" she asked softly as he placed a stack of pancakes in front of her. He gawked at her for a second before dusting some powdered sugar over the warm pastries.

"Uh, yes, but it's very bad for me." Caspian grinned and pressed his lips against her forehead. "Just like you."

Lucy rolled her eyes, but she reveled in the attention. "What, are you afraid of getting fat?"

He quickly kissed her and went back to his cooking. "No, I'll starve to death."

Well, _that_ got her attention. "What?"

Caspian smiled and shook his head. "I'll starve. Eating human food only makes me hungrier for… you know." He tended to stay away from the 'b' word whenever she was around.

Now she was really curious. Caspian never closed himself off from her, but this was the first time that he was really open.

"Does that mean you can eat human food?" The plate of expertly cooked scrambled eggs and sautéed bacon almost distracted her, but she wasn't deterred (though she was much hungrier now).

"I can taste it too. I have to tell you, I miss paella and chocolate soufflé. But eating it… it practically burns the lining of my stomach now. It just isn't nutritionally sound, to put it lightly." Pans clattered around in the sink as he cleaned up, and the scent of lemon dish soap filled the air quickly. Caspian was like the Holy Grail or something. He cooked, he cleaned, and he was good in bed. If it weren't for the whole vampire thing, she'd marry him in a heartbeat.

"Is all blood _nutritionally sound_, or is it just human blood?" She dug into her eggs before they got cold and soggy.

"To cut a long story short, think of it like this. You eat cows, pigs and chickens, and they have some of the nutrients you need, but not all of them. In reality, the only thing that does is human flesh. Sure, you can eat vegetables and fruits to get the other vitamins you need, hell, you can even buy them at a health store. As for me…" Caspian paused to sit across from her at the breakfast table. "I don't have anything like that. Cow blood is enough to hold me over for a day or too, but it just isn't enough. Eventually I will need to feed on human blood."

Some minutes passed, and all Lucy could do was poke at her bacon with her fork, pushing the strip of oily meat around with a contemplative, creased brow. "How often do you need to drink, and where do you get it for that matter?"

While she was focused on her meal, Caspian sighed and looked his little pet over with a slight frown. "Not as often as you'd think. I've gone for two months before without a single drop. It was painful, and I didn't do much but sleep and moan, but I didn't die either. There's something to be said about that."

Lucy peered up at him dangerously through her lashes. "Where do you get it?"

Somehow, this little sapling of a girl frightened him more than his elders, more than ever when she looked at him like that. The term 'pussy-whipped' was very applicable.

"There are several blood banks and doctors who I trust," he began regretfully. "And before you, I even had some mistresses. Not groupies, or anything disgusting like that, and I've certainly _never_ fed off or been with a man."

"Mistresses…?"

"Prostitutes, sweetness. Clean ones however."

"Ah."

Caspian swallowed past a lump in his throat. She looked tense, and she was chewing very slowly, as if her jaw hurt or the food tasted bad. It smelled good enough, so he knew it wasn't the good making her uncomfortable. He was losing her, and that just wouldn't do.

"Lucy, you can ask me anything you want to right now, and I will answer you honestly. I don't want this elephant or gorilla in the room, whatever it is you people call it. Just… talk to me, okay?"

She heaved a sigh and looked up at him with a slight pout. "How old were you when you changed?"

Of all the questions she could've asked, that was the most uncomfortable. "I'm glad you used the word changed, since we've already established that I never died." The glare she gave him obviously she wasn't amused.

"I was twenty-eight." His tone was remorseful, and even ashamed.

"Why twenty-eight? Were you afraid of turning thirty?"

Suddenly Caspian's gaze turned inward, and he no longer saw Lucy. At least that's what she thought.

"The woman I was seeing told me I was beautiful. At the time, that's all that mattered to me. I was silly and vain, and in love with whatever she saw."

Lucy looked taken aback. That was the last thing she expected. She thought it had to do with physical fitness or mental intellect, not vanity. Caspian lived with both feet on the ground. He wasn't a preening peacock. As much as she wanted to laugh at it, she let him continue. She doubted he would ever speak of this again.

"It was enough to make me fall in love with her, flimsy as the compliment was. So I went to my father, and he turned me." When she opened her mouth to question him, he held up a hand to stop her. "We'll talk about that another time. Is there anything else you need to know?"

"Is… uh… Well, in the movies, whatever a human looks like when they're changed into a vampire, they look like that forever. Is that how it is for you?"

Caspian's mouth pursed, and he eventually just shrugged his shoulders. "Kind of. My hair will never grow, nor will my nails. I once tried to shave my head, and I ended up breaking all the blades on the razor. But if I don't care of myself, I will start to… deteriorate. I won't rot, but I'll age. My hair will go gray, I'll get really skinny, and my skin will start to wrinkle."

While he talked, she finished off her pancakes with gusto. They were sweet but not too sweet, and absolutely perfect on her tongue. "Will you stay that way? Are all vampires like that?"

"Not if I feed, and some vampires are. Only if they're old and powerful. Other vampires will either rot away or turn into goop. It's really quite ugly to watch. There are a few however… Well, I've never seen them drink, but they thrive, they flourish. I hope I get there someday."

It was embarrassing, really, that after all these years he still hadn't achieved all that he could. "They've been alive for over a millennium, however, so they have an unfair advantage."

Caspian was dismayed that the morning had gone from sweet and tender, to awkward and uncomfortable; but she knew the truth now. If she left him… at least it wouldn't be because he lied to her. Although he wasn't sure if heaven was an option for him, he still liked following some of the Ten Commandments. Well, occasionally at least.

Lucy's silence was beginning to seep into his bones, and he was surprised by how much it hurt. All humans had an expiration date, but he didn't know they're relationship had one. He was usually flippant about losing his female companions. They came and went like the weather, but Lucy… Lucy just seemed so… She seemed like the one, if there were such a thing.

"I can understand if you're uncomfortable with this. Sometimes it bothers me." When she didn't answer, it only confirmed his worst fears. "Do you want me to take you home?"

Instead of a response, he heard the rustling of falling fabric. And when he looked up, instead of a frowning Lucy, there was a _naked_ Lucy. The bathrobe was on the ground, and her breasts were as perfect as ever. "Um… those are lovely. What are you doing?"

Then, like a leopard on the prowl, she stalked towards him with a mysterious smile and a swish to her hips that was sweeter than lemonade – or what he thought lemonade tasted like. It had been years since he'd had it, after all.

"The last thing I want is to go and deal with Frau Knop," she whispered silkily as she came up behind him. A fine shiver worked its way up his spine when she wrapped her arms about his waist, effectively crushing her chest against his back. He could feel the heat of her skin chasing away his reservations about their relationship. "I just want to get in the bath with you, and waist a few hours soaking while we make good use of the jets." Each word was accented by a few well-placed kisses against the back of his neck.

"That sounds like a good idea," he practically purred as he looped his fingers through hers. She hadn't run off yet, maybe she wouldn't be running off later. "We could even go back to bed once we're all clean."

Needless to say, they did go back to bed.

Some hours later, when she was good and sated, they lay on his bed, spooning for warmth and comfort, a thought hit Caspian with the subtlety of a freight train. Ever since meeting Lucy, he'd been far removed from his community, from his elders, from Miraz and Glozelle… from Ramandu's satanic daughter.

As she slept, he stared at her throat with obvious longing and trepidation. There would be hell to pay if anyone discovered that she was his pet.

He would just have to get better at keeping secrets.

* * *

Kittens!


	3. Carmen

After centuries of a relationship routine that worked like clockwork, Caspian's love life had tapered down to a precise equation. First came wining and dining, then came rough and passionate sex, which cooled down to slow and tender lovemaking – right before it fizzled out completely. When it came to women, he didn't even think about changing his habits or practices. If it isn't broken, don't fix it.

But then Lucy came along, and changed his entire world. Usually, he would just dive between a woman's legs. It was always about him, and it would always be about him. Not with Lucy however. Their first night together wasn't hot and fast, it was playful. He learned the crook of her elbow was ridiculously sensitive, and that laughter was just as sexy as moaning. They were wonderful together, and had been playing ever since.

So playing a trick on Lucy seemed like a great idea. It started small. 'Come to the opera with me', he asked her that morning. Her response was eager, and he knew why. A night at the opera meant high-heeled shoes, decadent jewelry, and an actual evening gown. Every girl wanted to be a princess for an evening, and Lucy was one of the few who deserved it. Lucy's tone reflected her giddy excitement

Until he told her that he'd already picked out several gowns for her. He could hear her heart drop into her stomach, even over the phone. She shakily replied 'okay', but he knew she was lying through her teeth. He wasn't worried however. Lucy made him feel noble and honorable again, and there was no way he could ever disappoint her.

That didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun along the way.

* * *

Lucy's last class of the day was philosophy, and it passed in a blur – much like the rest of her classes. Instead of focusing on Socrates, Descartes and Marx, her mind was fixed on stilettos, dresses and mascara. She trusted none of these items to Caspian. It wasn't that she didn't trust him. Lucy was starting to suspect that she _loved_ him, which was scary enough. She just didn't trust him when it came to his wardrobe. Caspian dressed very sharply, but he thought she looked best naked. That was always a distressing barometer.

She was in such a daze that her teacher had to nudge her out of her seat. If that weren't embarrassing enough, she had to call Frau Knop for a ride home – she couldn't remember the way back to the house. The grey-haired, amply proportioned German was deeply concerned for her young houseguest. Or perhaps she was just deeply disturbed by the three boxes unexpectedly delivered to her house.

Lucy was certainly disturbed by them. They were just so… _big_. Like 1980s Texas beauty pageant big. "Here she comes, Miss Trailer Park '87," Lucy whispered to herself as she eyed those frighteningly large boxes. They reminded her of the evil marshmallow from 'Ghostbusters'; and as it turned out, she had a right to be scared. The dresses were absolutely _awful_.

The first one was a hideous mess of navy blue, stretched taffeta. It could be described, very eloquently, in one phrase – mother of the bride. It was a mock two-piece, side-ruched dress with long sleeves and a portrait collar. It was a matronly block of ill-fitting, shiny fabric that looked good on no one; not even the mother of the bride.

The next one wasn't much better. Really, it was worse. Caspian had traded in the mother of the bride for a Disney prosti-tot. It wasn't terrible, per se, but it certainly wasn't for the opera. It was a strapless gown made of flowing chiffon with a bubble hemline. The pattern was much too casual, teal flowers and leaves on a white background, but that wasn't the problem. What was a problem was the sales tag, more specifically what it said.

'As seen in High School Musical 3.'

Tragic as the second dress was, nothing, absolutely _nothing_ could rival the horror that was the third dress. It was… and the… oh _God_, the stripes!

It was a floor-length gown with a long bubble skirt, made of yet more stretch taffeta. If that wasn't bad enough, the pattern was pink and black zebra stripes.

Looking at these three gowns, Lucy was scared to death that Caspian didn't know her at all. None of the ugly as hell frocks suited her personality at all. Did that mean Caspian didn't suit her?

Lucy wasn't ready to find out. Maybe he was just confused? He wasn't perfect – it was a valid explanation.

She spent as long as she could getting ready. She took a shower, shaved her legs and underarms, and styled her hair into an impeccable, side-parted chignon. Her make-up was expertly applied, with smoky eyes and nude lips. All that remained was to bravely put on one of those gowns. Choosing one was like deciding between three bags of horse manure. All she had to do was pick the one that stunk the least.

But Lucy just couldn't do it. She couldn't. She wasn't the mother of the pride, or a Disney tween star, or even insane. It almost made her cry. She was so looking forward to spending the evening with Caspian, but she would never settle for an ugly dress.

Lucy briefly considered calling him, but she wanted an open and honest relationship; and she wanted to be there so she could scold him and possibly beat him to death.

This time she didn't ask Frau Knop for a ride. If her host even suspected that she was spending the evening with a man, let alone a vampire, she'd be sent back to England in a heartbeat. So she had to brave the Berlin bus system, which was very amusing, considering that she paired her elegant hair and make-up with a pair of jeans. The night was cool enough that she didn't sweat off her make-up, but it wasn't cool enough to chase away her burgeoning anger.

'_Why couldn't I pick out my own dress?!' _she thought heatedly as she stomped across the walking bridge to Caspian's house. The outside was just was beautiful as the inside, even more so, and was very much inspired by Japanese architecture and agriculture. There was a rock garden, a koi pond (hence the walking bridge), and a menagerie of Asian-inspired plants – purple hydrangea, pink hyacinth, and even a Japanese maple. His landscape architect was absolutely genius.

His good taste when it came to flora only made her that much _angrier_. So much angrier, than when she made it to the door, she banged on it with both fists.

"_Caspian!_ Open this door right now!" She could hear the door locks clicking open. He was dead, no, he was _worse_ than dead. He was horsemeat, he was French, he was a Calvin Klein knock-off…

He was drop-dead _gorgeous_. Caspian wore a slim-fitting, black tuxedo with the darkest purple shirt she'd ever seen. He even had a black suit tie and a pair of shiny, leather loafers on. Thankfully, he didn't do much with his hair besides comb it, but he shaved, which was a miracle in itself. That he looked so good-looking made her so much angrier.

"I'm not going to the opera," Lucy said firmly, though her resolve was fast failing her. He just looked so handsome, in his dark suit with that cheeky, cheeky grin.

Wait.

Why was his grin cheeky?

As he tried to touch her hair, Lucy smacked his hands away. "I'm serious! None of those dresses… fitted." She knew the moment the lie came out, that she was very much in love – hopelessly so.

It wasn't an earth-shattering revelation. It didn't make her weak in the knees. In their first few days she thought it could happen, and some weeks later she _knew_ it would happen. The only thing that surprised her was how quickly it happened. They'd only been together two months! She knew people who'd been together years without being truly in love. Lucy suspected that her own mother didn't fall in love with her husband until _after_ they were married. Now they had the most wonderful, loving relationship in the world.

Staring at his familiar smile, his hair, his chin, Lucy almost knew why she fell in love so fast. He was absolutely dreamy and marvelous to be with, but her stay in Germany would be ending in three months. She had some summer courses to take, but after that, it was back to England to finish college. If she was going to have a summer fling, it was best to do it with someone she loved.

Love or not, she was still incensed over those dresses.

"I'm not going. I don't have a dress." Lucy was surprised by the finality in her tone, the smugness and haughtiness. She was proud of her decision. Still…

"I'm sorry though. I really wanted to go."

* * *

_Bingo._

Caspian knew he had her with that apology. She looked genuinely upset, and more than slightly ticked off. Hell, she even looked ashamed of him. Well, underneath that beautiful make-up she looked ashamed. With her dusky eyes and bare mouth, she was stunning in every sense of the word.

However, according to his Movado watch, they were running out of time. They would never make the overture if he continued on with his teasing. It was time to let her have what she wanted.

"I had a feeling none of them would fit," he began remorsefully. "So I did a little shopping over lunch." Bull shit – he'd had the gown for days.

Her confused pout nearly made him giggle, so without further adieu, he took her by the hand and lead her into the dining room. Sitting inconspicuously on his table was a white box with a black cloth bow. From the corner of his eye, Caspian saw her Lucy's face fall in horror. He knew what she expected.

A moment passed, and the most she could do was stare at it. She seemed to be treating it like Pandora's box, like hell would be released.

"We don't have all day Lucy," he said, pretending to be exasperated.

Very slowly, as if it pained her, Lucy pushed aside the bow and lifted the cover off. But instead of groaning in pain, she gasped in pleasure.

The dress wasn't tacky, matronly or whorish at all. It was unbelievably gorgeous, and looked like it cost more than a house payment.

It was a strapless, floor-length gown with an elegant empire-waist. Gold and silver threading created a graceful scalloped design on flowing ivory silk. Gold-toned glass beads trimmed the sweetheart neckline, pulling the whole look together. It was understated, yet unique – sophisticated, yet youthful. Caspian knew it was the dress for her the second he saw it.

He was just about to ask if she liked it, when she snapped up the box and ran into his bedroom. If that wasn't a sign of just how happy she felt, nothing was.

Caspian heard her clothing rustle from behind closed doors, so he took a moment to pull out the shoes and jewelry he picked out. He also brought out a paper bag and a bottle of Xanax, just in case she started to panic.

He barely had the shoes on the table, when she entered the room, all smiles and laughter. The gown, as he suspected, was perfect on her. She looked Psyche or Persephone, or even Aphrodite. Sonnets should've been written for the pretty British girl in her Grecian gown.

"It's not complete," he said before she could comment on how fabulous she looked. "You still need your shoes, Cinderella.

And what a pair of shoes they were! He had done his homework well, and chosen a pair of rhinestone-studded, silver Manolo Blahnik stilettos. As it turned out, she did need the paper bag. Lucy even needed to sit down to use it. She would definitely need to sit down for what came next.

"Now, I didn't want to go the 'Pretty Woman' route, and borrow jewelry for one night only," Caspian intoned gently as he knelt before her. Lucy's eyes were wide and glassy, as if she wanted to cry. It wasn't the dress that pleased her (though it made her ecstatic), but it was the fact that he picked it out. He had a sneaking suspicion that she now understood the joke.

The small jewelry box he pulled out of his pocket was no joke. Now since this was no 'Pretty Woman' joke, he went with something smaller and more suitable for everyday use – a pair of round-cut, champagne diamond studs with a yellow gold setting.

"I expect you to wear them every day." If the way she snatched them up and put them, he wouldn't have to worry about that. The diamonds weren't too expensive, but they certainly weren't something he'd buy every day.

"What are we seeing?" He almost laughed at her question. It was better than any word of gratitude or worship.

"La Traviata. We're seeing La Traviata."

* * *

The ride in the limousine was hysterical. She fiddled with every knob and button, and he ended up getting periodically blasted with cold _and_ hot air. The grandeur of the opera house had her gasping, the tragedy of the play had her crying, and the fact that they were together had her smiling.

As charming as she was, he still wanted to get her a glass of wine. So while he went to the bar, she went to the bathroom to take care of some 'lady business' – those were her exact words.

"One glass of Moët and Chandon, please."

"Make that two."

Caspian's heart froze in his chest at that dreadfully, familiar voice. His head snapped to the left, where a man in a black tuxedo with a white shirt and bowtie stood.

"Glozelle. You shaved." The older vampire smiled and rubbed his bare chin.

"So I did. Are you expecting someone?" He obviously was referring to the champagne the bartender had just delivered.

"Who wants to know?" Caspian asked suspiciously as he laid down some Euros; but Glozelle was no longer looking at the younger man. His eyes were fixed on very pretty girl, in a very pretty ivory gown.

"Did you think you could keep her a secret?" Glozelle questioned lightly as he gave Lucy a lingering, and almost lewd once-over. The way her focused on her bare throat made Caspian's blood boil.

"You stay away from her," Caspian hissed as he tightly clapped a hand around Glozelle's wrist. Glozelle only eyed the hand with a discerning frown.

"I want nothing to do with your pet," he whispered as he unwrapped Caspian's fingers. "But make sure you hold onto her. You never know who else is watching."

With that Glozelle disappeared into the crowd like a ghost, as if he'd never even been there. Before he could go after him, he felt a smaller hand sliding into his own. Lucy was peering curiously at his tense expression. Even baffled she was beautiful.

"Caspian. Is everything alright?" Her question was quiet and soft, and unknown to her, absolutely loaded.

"I'm fine."

It was a lie.

* * *

  
Okay, this is unbeta'ed, so don't focus on that.

Review!


	4. Red Wine

I seriously dislike Twilight, but damn, that guy playing Jacob is a fox.

Compatibility.

It was the perfect word for their relationship. Lucy was sweet and even tempered, while Caspian was mild and incredibly easy to please. They had one of the laziest liaisons ever conceived. Their average date consisted of dinner, a movie, and then hours romping between the sheets. It was hard to spice up the routine with Lucy's demanding schedule and absurdly early curfew (eleven p.m.!). It worked out just fine for Caspian, having a low-maintenance girlfriend. Lucy was just glad for the company. They managed to change things up every now and then, such as the time they attended the opera. One night they just drove around in a limousine for the better part of the evening. It was fun changing things up.

Things didn't always go smoothly though.

Case in point, the night Caspian was supposed to meet Lucy's mother and father. George and Mary Pevensie hadn't seen their daughter in nine months, and they were anxious to meet the new characters in her life. Lucy never lied to her mother, so when asked about any boys, Lucy truthfully answered that she had met someone. She just neglected to mention that he wasn't human.

In truth, Caspian was delighted to meet his girlfriend's parents. It would bring a certain validity to their relationship. Maybe they'd even let him visit her in England; or, better yet, they wouldn't be upset if he moved to England. He couldn't even speak German. Why he'd stayed for thirty-seven years was a mystery. It certainly wasn't the droves of attractive women. Lucy was his first real catch in nearly fourteen years. Until he met her, sex consisted of one-night stands, and a 'good meal', to put it gently; and that was a big problem.

For most vampires, being in a committed relationship with a human calmed them down immensely. Mostly because keeping such a partner meant having a continual food source. Sadly, most partnerships boiled down to food and sex. A few of his friends were lucky enough to be in love, but when it faded fast as soon as the blood ran dry – either naturally, or unnaturally. Caspian was proud that his feelings for Lucy transcended that.

However, his stomach hadn't transcended that. Caspian still needed to eat, but he'd promised to never do it around her. It meant drinking an early breakfast and a late dinner, but he managed it. He just took more naps, since he definitely wasn't a morning person. It was a schedule that worked out just fine. That is, until the morning of his dinner-date with Lucy and her parents.

His day started normally. He woke up at seven a.m., thanks to a loud alarm clock, and stumbled to the door. It was Monday, so there should've been a package waiting on his door step. Within it would've been bags of o-positive, packed in dry ice. As expected, there was a brown box sent to him from Wiesbaden, labeled as fragile. The blood bank he used was smart enough to not label is as medically hazardous.

It had been three days since his last proper feeding, so he was absolutely famished. He'd been sipping on cold chicken's blood, which was positively vile. To have real human blood, after practically starving, was literally orgasmic. It was why blood and sex went together like ribs and barbecue sauce, or so he'd been told.

But as he brought the package into his kitchen, something seemed a little off. He wrote it off as hunger, and eagerly opened it with a paring knife. What he found was devastating.

Apparently whoever delivered it couldn't speak English. Though 'fragile' was clearly _spelled_ in big red letters, the warning was clearly _ignored_. The glass bottles had shattered, and the dry ice had dissolved. All that remained was blood-stained Styrofoam and carbon dioxide.

"No," Caspian breathed in disbelief as he scratched futilely at the icy red flakes. "No, no, _no_." This couldn't be happening – not when he needed to make a good impression. But if he didn't feed soon, he wouldn't be making any impression. If he wanted to be there for Lucy, there were a million phone calls to make.

So much for going back to bed.

"He's really quite charming, Mum. Smart too."

Lucy didn't know why she was pleading Caspian's case to her mother. She had been nothing but supportive, willingly playing mediator between her daughter and her husband.

It was two in the afternoon, and Lucy sat in the Knop's dining room. Her mother was twisting her hair into ringlets with a curling wand. They'd spent the whole morning shopping for dresses and cosmetics, while her father slept. He'd never been able to sleep on trains, hence he was exhausted. Anyway, he wanted to be sharp when he met her beau. Lucy would never use the term, but she also forwent the word boyfriend. Boyfriend implied sex before marriage, something her parents disagreed with. 'Boy I'm dating' sounded more like ice cream and holding hands.

"I'm sure he's delightful, darling. If you like him, he can't be so bad. You're far too smart to go for the wrong sort."

Lucy wanted to believe that. Until she'd met Caspian, she's always gone for the right sort. Studious young men slated for Oxford, law students who liked fishing on the weekends, and other honorable men. The boy she lost her virginity to was now majoring in radiochemistry, whatever that was. They'd been each other's first, so that didn't go so well. He'd been earnest, but not talented. That's why she broke up within him barely eleven days into their relationship.

Her mom didn't know about that.

"What does he look like?" Mary asked her daughter as she lightly misted the curls with hairspray. Lucy had a smitten look on her face, making her mother believe that whoever the young man was, he was very handsome.

"He's very dark, like a Spaniard. He's built like a rugby player – strong, but nowhere near as muscular as Peter." Somehow, her brother had gone from a skinny weed to a broad-shouldered Adonis. How he beefed up so quickly was beyond comprehension. Lucy went with the steroid theory. He _was_ a doctor. Getting his hands on the goods would've been easy.

"He sounds absolutely lovely. What's his name again, love?" Lucy blushed at the kind word. She certainly understood its meaning now.

"Caspian."

"That's right, I remember. I _knew_ he had a strange name."

Lucy sighed.

"He's certainly strange."

"What do you mean supplies are low? It's a _blood_ bank, not the Royal Bank of Scotland. The recession does not apply to plasma."

It was four now, and Caspian was no closer to a meal than he was three days ago. With each passing minute, his condition grew more dangerous. He was agitated, his senses were dulling, and the blood lust he had once conquered was back with a vengeance. No one was in any danger however. The slightest movement had him so winded and exhausted, that he couldn't even get off the couch. Every little shift and twitch made his joints clench in agony.

"I cannot wait another two days. I won't be able to answer the door, you insufferable asshole." This was his fifteenth phone call in two hours, and nothing was coming to fruition. He didn't even have enough time, or the heart, to give Lucy a call. There was no way he could fail her, not today.

But he'd already called three hospital, six blood banks, and five 'private donors'. None of them had anything to offer, nothing to spare. Even the few clean prostitutes he knew were either dead or spoilt. Besides, it felt like adultery just talking to them. Monogamy had been working out just fine, thus far.

"Don't call me desperate, pig. I've been pumping mountains of cash to your various charities. I _own_ you."

When the person at the other end of the line hung up, Caspian let out a litany of curses that would make Lewis Black blush – including fuck, shit, and barrel-assed cunt.

Another hour passed, more calls were made, and nothing was getting done. The more he fretted, the more his stomach burned. He'd once gone two weeks without food; but the combination of stress, infatuation, and anxiety was robbing him of energy and sanity. At this rate, he'd be attacking passing cats, if he could get past the fur.

Then the worst thing that could possibly happen, happened.

His fangs dropped.

It hurt more than he remembered, and tore his gums open. But there was no blood, just pain. That was always a bad sign.

Desperation set in, and he surrendered to the inevitable.

He would not be visiting Lucy's parents.

He just hoped she wouldn't kill him.

Mary stared at her despondent daughter, and sighed sympathetically.

"I'm sure he as a good reason," she soothed as she reached across the table to pat Lucy's hands.

"I doubt that," George grumbled incredulously. Mary frowned and elbowed her husband sharply. The last thing she needed was having her husband destroy what was left of Lucy's good mood. If it was still there at all.

They were supposed to meet Caspian at the café where the two lovers met, around six o'clock, so they could eat dinner and then just talk. There was no Caspian there to greet them, however. Ever supportive of her children, Mary wrote off his absence, saying he was just probably late. The Pevensies then sat down and ordered glasses of water, as well as some Bauernbrot (farmer's bread).

Forty-five minutes went by, and still no Caspian. So they ordered some carrot cream soup with cream cheese dumplings; but fifteen minutes after finishing it, George gave up and ordered some braised venison for dinner. Mary waited another ten minutes before she ordered ham hocks and spaetzle. Lucy was the last to order, and she then spent an hour poking at her pork and mushrooms.

Two-and-a-half hours into their meal, it became apparent that Caspian would not be joining them. So Mary tried to make the best of the situation, and started asking Lucy questions about school and sports. George occasionally smiled and complimented his daughter, but neither of them could pull her from her unhappiness. Even warm desserts couldn't make her happy – and Lucy loved sweets.

Eventually things got so depressing that the three of them just gave and went back to the Knop residence. Lucy was almost in tears by the time they made it back to the house. George and Mary gave their daughter big hugs and went back to their hotel. They knew better than to try and comfort her. It would only make things worse.

Lucy didn't go to sleep though. She put on an oversized t-shirt (possibly Caspian's) and a pair of boxers (also possibly Caspian's). Crawling under the covers only made her angrier. How _dare_ he abandon and embarrass her. She wasn't a mistress he could stash away at port. The more upset she got, the more sleep escaped her. Lucy went over the dinner, and realized she'd probably made her parents just as miserable as she was. They didn't deserve that, and she didn't deserve being stood up.

Caspian, on the other hand, deserved a sound thrashing. And as soon as she had some sneakers on, she was out the door and on the bus. At twelve a.m., it wasn't a pleasant ride, but it was very quick; meaning her rage didn't have any time to cool. By the time she made it to his place, she was positively incensed. The only thought in her mind was the pummel Caspian within an inch of his life.

In three heavy steps, she was over the bridge and banging both fists on the door. "Open up, you stupid git! You have some explaining to do!" She briefly paused to go over the irony of the statement, and decided on a different route. "If you don't open this door, I will ram a stake through your heart!"

Thirty seconds passed, and no one came to answer the door. Lucy, being a fan of tacky action movies, remembered that kicking in a door was very effective. With her skinny legs it really wasn't, and the only thing that came of it was sore feet. However, she did learn that the door was unlocked, and all she had to do was turn the knob. Caspian always kept his door locked, _always_. In her fury she didn't notice that little tidbit, and blindly charged into his house like a bull.

"Guess what? My parents think you're a ghost, you dick," she hissed as she stomped into the living room. "My father hates you already, and I can understand why. I'm already of that…" Lucy trailed off in concern as she finally got a look at the cheap son a bitch.

He lay motionless on the couch, sprawled on his belly with his face in a pillow. His hair was oily, and what skin she saw was abnormally pale and yellow. The fingers of his left hand were twitching against the ground.

Caspian had always been the portrait of health and vitality. The only man that looked to be in better health was Peter.

"What's going on? Are you alright?"

She heard a growl emanate from the pillow.

"Don't come any closer."

Plucky Lucy ignored the warning and tiptoed over to his side. Concern overwhelmed her annoyance, forcing her to sit on the coffee table next to the sofa. While she was still very upset, seeing him like this was deeply troubling.

"Caspian, are you ill? Is there something I can get you?"

When Caspian turned his head to her, she wished he hadn't. His skin was so pallid and yellow that it looked like it was about to peel off. Honey had bled into his usually black irises, giving him the appearance of a sick cat. What freaked her out the most were the two little dents on his bottom lips. She couldn't see them, but she knew they belonged to his fangs.

"I haven't eaten in four day, and I won't get anything until morning. The asshole at the hospital sent over a needle and an empty blood bag. Cruelest joke ever."

It was easy to forget that Caspian was something other than human. He just didn't look like or act like anything but a boy. Seeing him here though, rotting away on a leather sofa, was a painful reminder that he wasn't like her. This was just one more thing that they didn't have in common; but unlike disagreeing on a movie, this was terrifying.

She loved him though. This was not something they couldn't conquer.

"How do I use it?" she asked carefully, like she was talking to a child. "The needle. Will I need an alcohol swab?"

He gasped weakly and narrowed his eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

She shrugged. "I won't let you bite me or anything. But maybe a pint would hold you over until the morning."

"I can't ask that of you. I _won't_ ask that of you."

Mustering up her courage, she bent down and kissed his icy cheek. "You didn't have to."

Working the syringe was terrifying. She could barely work a sewing needle without pricking her fingers. But Caspian spoke very slowly and very clearly.

"Wrap the rubber band around your left bicep tightly, around six inches below her shoulder. Not so tightly that you start losing feelings in your fingers."

Her hand shook, but somehow she managed to tie the knot and clean her elbow with hot water. Caspian told her that if anything other than water contaminated her blood, he might get sicker. Anyway, the needle hadn't been taken out of its plastic case, so she trusted it was clean.

"Lay your left arm palm down on the table. Then look for a blue vein in the crease of your elbow."

"How… how do I put the needle in? Do I just poke myself?"

He shook his head. "I'll do it. Don't worry."

Caspian looked absolutely terrible, but he was reasonably steady as she helped him to sit up. Maybe hunger stilled his hand long enough to guide the tip in, but it didn't really didn't hurt too badly. What scared her was the look in his eyes as blood filled that plastic bag. It was needy and lustful. He looked at her that way when he was undressing her, or kissing her shoulders.

"Do you want in a cup or something?" she asked, dazed as he withdrew the syringe and gently placed a band-aid over the puncture mark.

"A wine glass would be good. It'll look more like red wine that way."

She knew he was trying to make her feel better, but she had just broken her one rule – to never let Caspian drink her blood. It was invasive and perverse, but it was the one thing that would keep him alive. They weren't any clean wineglasses, so she had to wash one in the sink. And as she rinsed away the bubbles, she considered dumping the blood down the drain. He would suffer, but she wouldn't have abandoned her morals.

Most of the amber had disappeared from his eyes as she handed over the crystal Bordeaux glass. He looked more like a sick version of himself, rather than a dead version.

"I have to go," she informed him just as he was about to take a sip. He looked at her with a baffled expression. "

It's two in the morning. Why don't you just spend the night."

"I have class in the morning." She didn't, and he knew that. But he nodded.

"May I kiss you goodnight?"

There was a moment of silence.

"No."

The mixture of insomnia and blood loss had Lucy sleeping in clear past noon; but it only took a ringing cell phone to wake her up – and boy did it piss her off. It was the one night she didn't feel guilty about kicking Fritz out of his room. The call went ignored for a good five minutes, but whoever was calling her just wouldn't give was only one person who was so persistent.

"What is it, Mummy?" she groused as she hit the answer button. "Dad better be dying."

"Dearest, Caspian is absolutely wonderful!"

Lucy shot straight up in bed, as if she'd been struck by lightning.

"_What?!_"

"He took us to breakfast, and apologized for missing dinner. Then he got us two free nights at a castle in Stuttgart. An actual castle?"

'_Why would he do that?'_, she thought.

"Maybe to get back in your good grace?"

Okay, so she didn't just think it.

"We're all going out to dinner tonight. Will you join us?"

There was no moment of silence.

"Yes."

Another day, another chapter.

Isn't life great?


	5. Lullaby

Hey everybody! As we all know, this story is all about fun. Well, it's about _me_ having fun. Realizing that I've been very selfish, I've decided to actually use some reader input. No, you won't have any say in the plot whatsoever. At least not for this story.

I was thinking of writing a spin-off of 'Berlin After Dark' – only you guys would be in charge! Well, sort of.

It would strictly be smut, pure and simple. That's right, nothing but sex and cuddling. This is where you guys come in. You all will be in charge of the plot, location, sexual positions, the whole enchilada. How it works, is that any time you review any of my Lucian stories, simply leave some details about what you would like to see; or, if you want it to be anonymous, just email my account name.

Now, try not to make it _too_ dirty. Remember, it's a love story between Caspian and Lucy. While in most of my stories they aren't canon, try to think of realistic fetishes or whatnot.

For example, while I'm pretty sure sex in a public place isn't out of the question, I don't think they would do it while anyone was watching. Like, if they were on a beach, they'd find a secluded area, such as under a pier. They wouldn't plop down in front of children, and make little vampire babies. Or when it comes to bondage, I think it wouldn't involve piercings.

I really want to write this story, so, starting with this chapter, give me some ideas!

Away we go!

* * *

"Our room was splendid, the food was delicious, and the wine was to die for. Remind me to send Caspian a note."

It had taken three bottles of French champagne, and a test ride in a fancy Bugatti Veyron, but her father did warm up to Caspian. They weren't chummy, but they weren't ignoring each other either. If anything, George tolerated Caspian, which was enough for Mary and Lucy.

"Sure Dad. Have a safe flight." Caspian also bought them first-class tickets on British Airways, back to Terminal Five. He was seriously pouring on the charm, even though Lucy suspected it was for her benefit.

"Now Lucy, we expect you to come visit next week. Peter finally has some vacation time. It may only be three days, but he still wants to see you," her mother said softly as she hugged her daughter for the last time. They had just finished a light lunch at Leysieffer Bistro on Tegel Boulevard, and now it was time for her parents to go.

"I'll be there, Mum. Don't worry." Lucy smiled and carefully tucked a lock of black hair behind her mother's ear. She was so pretty. It was easy to see the resemblance between Mary and Susan.

"Why don't you come back with us? There are schools in London you could transfer to," her father asked quietly, with a look of desperation. Much as he cleaned up his image, Caspian was still nothing more than a rapist and pillager. Lucy smiled and shook her head. The urge to say 'yes' overwhelmed her, but she stamped it down and gave her dad a hug.

"Go, before you miss your flight." Their final goodbyes and kisses were exchanged, and Lucy got a taxi back to the Knop house. Whilst her parents enjoyed their trip, Lucy spent the entire weekend preoccupied with thoughts of disbelief and uncertainty. Keeping secrets from her parents killed her, but she was almost ashamed to tell them the truth about Caspian. If she told him that he was a vampire, then she'd have to tell them about the whole blood thing. To be honest, it still made her sick to her stomach.

"Your parents' flight was on time?" Frau Knop asked slowly as Lucy walked through the door. She had just bought English lessons, courtesy of Rosetta Stone. Her accent was still thicker than gay men at a Cher concert, but at any rate, they had started communicating.

"Ja, Frau Knop. There were no complications." The generously proportioned German housewife nodded sternly and got back to her cooking. It appeared that she hadn't learned enough English to actually care about anything Lucy had to say. Lucy was just fine with that arrangement.

Fritz passed her on her way up to his room, and he was kind enough to open the door for her – right after he flipped her the bird. She rolled her eyes and slammed the door behind her. He may have been a pretty boy Aryan, but he was such an asshole. Someday she would finally get around to ruining that perfect nose of his.

She must've been pissed at Caspian is she was finding other men attractive.

The afternoon faded into night, and the six Knop boys went to bed, while their parents had very noisy sex. If Lucy was restless before, the constant thudding against her walls certainly made sure that she wouldn't be sleeping. The high-pitched squeals and guttural moans weren't helping either. The fact that Frau and Herr Knop weren't particularly attractive made it so much worse.

"Fuck," Lucy groaned as she collapsed onto the bed, before pulling a pillow over her head. She hadn't had a good night's sleep since that night at Caspian's house. At least it was the weekend, and she had no classes the next day. "So much for a good night's rest."

"Lucy, please, I am _begging_ you. Go. To. **Sleep**."

Unless the narrator for Rosetta Stone spoke with a Spanish accent, that wasn't Frau Knop berating her.

"How the hell did you get in here?!" Lucy shot up in bed and clutched the pillow to her chest. There, standing in the middle of the room, was a very rumpled and irritated-looking Caspian. He was wearing a pair of striped flannel pajama pants and a blue t-shirt. His feet were bare. "I thought you had to be invited in, and I know there's no way Mrs. Knop let you in."

"First of all, that whole invitation thing is just a myth. Secondly, I came in through the window."

"It was _locked_."

He rolled his eyes. "And I know how to pick locks. Now, please get some rest. You're killing me over here."

"What the fuck are you babbling about?" How did he even get there? Lucy knew that vampires were incredibly fast, but she also knew that she hadn't spoken to Caspian in forty-eight hours. Yet, somehow, he knew that she was suffering from insomnia.

"Listen. If you don't sleep, I don't sleep. And since you haven't slept in three days, I've been banging my skull against my headboard. Take a pill or something, and go to sleep."

Lucy didn't doubt that he hadn't slept. His skin was sallow, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders slumped forward. Despite the fact that he was a jerk, she still felt sympathy for him.

"Sit down before you fall over," she uttered while patting the spot next to her. His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he wasted no time in accepting the invitation.

"I'm not kidding Lucy – you need some sleep." He was perched on the edge of the bed, as if she could chase him off at any moment. For once, Lucy decided to give in and just let it go. Things were still iffy between them, but she didn't need to be such a hard-ass. Not so late at night, in any case.

"Why are we discussing my sleeping habits?" she asked softly as she pressed herself against his side. Caspian let out a sigh of relief and wrapped his arm around her waist. He held her like she would fly away the moment he let her go.

"Because, right now, I'm feeling everything you feel. If you can't sleep, I can't sleep. If you won't eat, I won't eat." He really did sound so tired, but so calmed as he buried his nose in her hair. Perhaps he had been missing her.

It made her so happy to be held like that, and she couldn't resist leaning a little closer against his chest. "Is it because of the blood thing?"

"Yes Lucy. It's because of the blood thing," he responded sarcastically as he stroked his hand up and down her back. "So you just need to be normal and healthy for the next few days. Then the bond will weaken, and you won't be such a pain in my ass." 'Pain in the ass' as she was, that didn't stop him from tugging her into his lap, situating her so that her back was against his chest.

"If you can feel me," she began distractedly as he kissed the shell of her ear, "Then why can't I feel you?" For some reason, he was all hands and lips. If he was this clingy after a few days, then spending a month apart would probably be agonizing for him. Unless physical contact soothed whatever he was feeling right now…

"Because you didn't drink my blood – but your connection would be much weaker. Humans don't need blood to survive." His fingertips drifted over her belly and hips, sometimes trailing on the undersides of her breasts. "So, you really need to sleep."

As intimate as their position was, she felt like he didn't mean for it to be sexual. But although he was just holding her, Lucy began to crave something more. It was sad that he could draw her in with just his fingers.

"I didn't mean to keep you awake," Lucy whispered as she turned around to straddle his thighs. She was surprised the see that his skin was already darker and healthier in appearance. Those dark eyes were still tired, but his hands were perfectly steady as they grasped her hips. "It's just been a very strange weekend." Caspian was quick to pick up on her nonverbal cues, and without even asking, he pulled her shirt up and off. She wasn't wearing a bra, and if the way his eyes widened were anything to go buy, this pleased him.

"You just need to take a break, or a barbiturate. I need sleep too, you know." Judging by the lingering kisses he pressed against her shoulders and collarbones, he didn't need any rest right now. Lucy sighed at the way his hands smoothed down her back and greedily cupped her derriere.

"I promise to get some sleep," she murmured before gently taking his earlobe between her teeth.

"Not right now though," he answered as he ground his hips against hers. "We can sleep later."

* * *

Sometime later, Caspian lay naked between her thighs, gasping for breath as he came down from their climax. With Mr. and Mrs. Knop raising their roof with the raucous rendezvous, Lucy and Caspian weren't too afraid of getting caught. For goodness sake, they were as quiet as church mice by comparison.

Sweat lent Lucy's skin a beguiling sheen, and, in Caspian's opinion, it only made her more beautiful. Her chest heaved with every breath, which made him want to roar like a lion. _He_ had done that to her, and in less than twenty minutes no less. He was responsible for that dazed look in her eyes; and if he had any say in it, he would be the only one responsible for it.

He probably didn't look much better. Caspian probably looked needy and starved. Not because he was hungry, but because he couldn't get enough of her. However, knowing how she tasted made her all the more addictive. How odd to be undone by someone so unassuming and insignificant. Caspian always thought his newest girlfriend would be an ice queen – not some sweet natured little bird.

"Come home with me. We can sleep in late, and spend the whole morning having sex on every possible surface." She laughed and pushed some sweat-soaked hair away from her face.

"I think Frau Knop would noticed if I disappeared in the middle of the night. Besides, you and I need to rest, and that won't happen if I go home with you."

Though it killed him, he knew it to be true. And so, with blatant longing, he pulled away from her slowly, delighting in her surprised gasp. It was fun to know that she was still tender from overstimulation.

"We'll go to dinner tomorrow," he said matter-of-factly as he put his clothes back on. "But for now we sleep." He gave her one last kiss goodbye, and then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Now, all he had to do was decide whether they would eat out, or stay in.

* * *

Woo! Steamy, huh?

Remember, you guys have the power to make it even steamier, but only if you review!


	6. Heilige Drei Könige

An empty nest is not always an unhappy one. It can be a lonely place, but even without children, there is love to be found there. At least that's how it was for George and Mary. For nearly thirty years, there had always been sore throats, dollhouses and toy swords. But now, even their youngest was beginning to move on. Lucy first steps into adulthood were rather big, what with Berlin and Caspian

George did his best to console Mary through the first few months of separation, but she still cried when cooking dinner or baking scones. It was awful, she told him, cooking for only two people after always feeding six. Eventually her tears subsided, and she began to use recipes that didn't leave too many leftovers.

Mrs. Pevensie even learned to enjoy her newfound freedom. Without the kids in the way, the couple, who'd been married for twenty-eight years, began to go on dates again. They ate at fancy restaurants, went to see plays at the West End, and sometimes they went ice skating. Neither of them were any good at it.

However, just as Mary was truly beginning to relax, Christmas came rolling into town, bringing with it carols, chestnuts and naturally, their children. Mary was overjoyed, and a little too eager.

"Darling, none of them will be arriving until eight o'clock. I doubt they'll be in the mood for a five course meal."

George sat at the kitchen table, wearing worn jeans and a grey sweatshirt. Mary was faithfully stirring a saucepan of turkey gravy, in a black dress, white pearls and red heels.

"Peter's eating enough for six people now, and Susan doesn't like it if her meat touches her vegetables," she stated without pausing or turning around. "Edmund can't cook, and Lucy loves family dinners. Of course our children will be starving." With her free hand, she pointed to the living room, where a tall, fat Blue Spruce was decorated with white lights and all sorts of ornaments and baubles. "Go make sure all the presents are on the tree skirt, and not the floor. They don't look as pretty on the floor."

George sighed. "Yes dear. I will rearrange the presents for the sixteenth time. Did you mortgage our house to pay for all of them, or just the upstairs bedrooms?"

"We have four children, George!" she called as he walked away. "And Lucy hasn't been well since she broke up with Caspian! I want my children to be nothing but happy!"

Another sigh. "I can't say that doesn't make me happy," he whispered.

"What did you say, dear?!"

"NOTHING."

* * *

Mary was right. Lucy hadn't been well since she broke up with Caspian. She'd been rather grey, actually. Berlin, which had only been tolerable, was now a wretched, cold and lonely city full of Nazi sympathizers and stupid vampires. The place was so awful that she'd paid nearly three-hundred Euros… or quid or whatever she had in her wallet, for the first ticket back home. Being the Christmas season, she had to wait a week. It was a week of snow, tears, and Fritz.

"Do you need help with your bags?" Fritz asked with a surprisingly good London accent. As it turned out, his English was flawless. "I could drive you to the Hauptbahnhof."

Lucy rolled her eyes as she pulled her last suitcase onto the bed. She was just getting finished with her packing. "There isn't enough room in your Mercedes for me _and_ your ego, Fritz. I'll just take a taxi."

Fritz chuckled, and sat down on the mattress, so close to her that he was practically breathing down her breasts. "We could sleep together. Right now. Any babies we make will be absolutely gorgeous. Well, as long as they get my genes."

It was the one of the most insulting and insensitive things anyone could ever say to her. Of course she had to cry. She hadn't really stopped in close to three weeks, so summoning another salty bout of waterworks was easy. Lucy pressed her hands to her face and wailed as quietly as she could. The noise she made sounded something like a dog whining. Fritz apparently had never heard this sort of weeping, because he immediately backed off and ran out the room.

Lucy collapsed on the spot where he'd been sitting and curled into a tight little ball, her arms crossed firmly over her stomach. She turned her face into the pillow, so snot wouldn't run down her chin. Hopefully Fritz would sleep on her boogers and get them in his stupid blond hair.

Her eyes hurt. They'd been hurting for close to a month now. Breaking up with Caspian hadn't been clean or amicable or even clothed. There was a Persian vampire named Aravis, a corpse in his bedroom, and his fangs were very pointy and very bloody.

He yelled at her for being nosy, and when she got back to the Knop Haus, she put everything he ever gave her in a big box and mailed it to him. He sent her back a pair of panties she'd left in his kitchen.

Then it was over. She was single and he was undead. And now she was crying, when she should be folding clothes.

She hiccupped as she dragged her sleeves over her eyes, her body trembling with each shaky inhale. Her hands, which were currently as graceful as a drunken senior citizen, took great big fistfuls of hair and started tangling as many brown locks as they could. Each finger pulled and pushed at her scalp, at the ache just beneath her skin. Her mouth, chapped and cracked, quivered as she bit down on her lower lip. She pulled her legs to her chest and pressed her forehead to her knees, bumpy and rough beneath her jeans. Said knees weren't smooth or creaseless, like that avarice Aravis. They had deep, pink scars from roughhousing with Peter, and she was always forgetting to put lotion on them.

Maybe that's why he hadn't called her at all, not even to… to… to tell he loved her, or that she was just a plaything, or even to say 'happy Christmas'.

Taking a deep breath, Lucy sniffled and swiped at her eyes with the corner of Fritz's blanket. Her cheeks itchy and felt raw, like they'd been stung by a jellyfish, or maybe slapped by a pad of sandpaper. Crying only made them sting worse, so, with one final sob, she took a few yoga breaths and slowly sat back up. Downstairs, she heard the doorbell chime three times. The taxi had arrived.

Balancing on the edge of the bed, she rubbed her eyes dry and finger-combed her hair, hoping it would lay flat. She didn't feel like taking another shower.

"Lucy! Your car is here! Don't let the door hit you on the way out!" that asshole Fritz called up.

"Fuck you, Fritz!"

* * *

Diamonds earrings. The gown she wore to the opera. A half-eaten box of Belgian chocolate. Some very sexy, very lacy red underwear. His favorite navy blue oxford shirt, the one with the light blue pinstripes. And every picture they had ever taken together.

Caspian kept all of them.

Under his bed.

It wasn't that he was bitter or lonely or still wildly in love with Lucy. Caspian wasn't any of those things. He'd just spent too much money on all those gifts to throw them away or pawn them. The only thing he could do was wait another fifty years, and see if their value increased.

Well, he hid everything but the underwear and the chocolate. For some unknown, ungodly reason he kept the panties in the nightstand drawer next to his bed. Not because he was worried about forgetting how Lucy smelled. Maybe in case some new lady friend lost her lingerie.

If keeping Lucy's undies was unhealthy, eating the chocolate was a million times worse. And Gwen was not going to let him forget that.

"Was it worth it?" she yelled from the kitchen as she scrubbed the sink out with bleach, because Caspian had just finished vomiting in it. He'd puked in almost every bowl shaped object he could, because every time he stood up, a burning mixture of cocoa, bile, acid and blood rose rebelled and escaped his stomach.

At the moment he was collapsed on the couch, limbs akimbo. Caspian's left leg was tossed over the back of the sofa, with his right dangling across the arm. He had one arm slung over his eyes, and the other was massaging his temples.

"Is it sunset yet?" he groaned as his stomach audibly grumbled. He'd eaten only six pieces of chocolate, but he felt like he was _dying_. Not only that, but he was going through withdrawal. But it wasn't drugs he was trying to quit cold turkey.

Vampires, both ancient and newly changed, were prone to suffering physical pain when their favorite source of comfort disappeared abruptly. Whether it was a sexual partner, blood doll, or even a family member, losing that person meant going through withdrawal.

In Caspian's case, he endured constant jaw aches, back pain, and sensory sensitivity. Anything from the sound of footsteps, the smell of his own skin, or even the glow of his alarm clock gave him horrendous migraines. When added to the agonizing stomach cramps and constant throwing up, Caspian could barely move without wanting to kill himself.

"It's only four," Gwen said as she came back into the room. Caspian could smell warm blood, the only medicine that could help him. "We have two more hours."

She sat on the table next to him and gently peeled his arm away from his face. He hissed and squeezed his eyes shut, the light burning more than a thousand suns. When Gwen pried his fingers opened and placed the water bottle in his hand, he gripped it tightly and raised it to his lips, drinking the hot, gelatinous liquid greedily. It was like an O-positive Jell-O shot.

"I'm sure it tasted wonderful, but really, you're going to be seven-hundred soon. Have you learned anything?"

Caspian gulped the blood down in under a minute, and instantly his stomach problems subsided. At least temporarily. But it didn't get rid of the separation issues. His skin was prickling and tingling, just from the very air cocooning his body. A muscle in his cheek was jumping because of a ticking nerve. When Gwen crossed her legs, the sound of her jeans moving was louder than a jet engine.

In the back of his head, underneath all the pain and denial, he could still feel Lucy. He didn't know if she was happy or sad, because their bond was too weak now. He just knew that she was alive and awake, and he suspected she was not thinking about him.

"Why haven't you put up a tree yet? You love Christmas." Gwen sounded like she was trying to be sarcastic, but he still heard genuine concern. Maybe it was because their friendship was three centuries strong, or maybe it was just curiosity.

"If you haven't noticed, I can't even move without throwing up. Why would I even leave the house?" Gwen sighed. That breath was a hurricane in Caspian's book.

"Because the moment you go after Lucy, you'll feel infinitely better. Maybe you just need closure, or maybe you need to grovel." She plucked the empty bottle from his hands and threw it towards the kitchen. "I'll never understand your affection for humans, and you won't probably ever understand either. So maybe you should just give in. Get off your high horse, and go find a white one. Lucy needs a knight in shining armor."

Caspian smiled at Gwen's eloquence. For a peasant, she was incredibly poetic. "What makes you think she wants me anymore, or that I want her? I am within my rights to kill _whomever_ I want." It was true. Well, at least in upper vampire circles. He literally heard Gwen frowning, because he could hear her lips crinkling downward.

"For once, that was purely Aravis's fault. She had no right to be in your house, nor did she have the right to drag in her latest kill."

"Aravis," Caspian whispered. "She used to be brave and confident. But ever since she met Cor, or Shasta or whatever she's calling him, she's become spiteful and dangerous. I don't understand it. Cor is so nice, so humble and mild."

"Aravis really loves Shasta, and it frightens her. So she tries to be as dominant and vicious as she can. I don't think she knows how to behave, but I know she'll be surprised when he finally mans up and leaves her." Gwen leaned in close, and whispered into his ear. "Like _you_ were surprised when Lucy left you."

Caspian winced and turned onto his side, away from Gwen. She was right and it hurt almost as much as his body. Nobody, absolutely _nobody_, had broken up with him before. He'd always been the one to leave, the one to get bored.

"Do you think there's still time to get a plane ticket?"

* * *

Everything was perfect, just _perfect_. The table was set with red and green linens, Mistletoe hung above every doorway, and George had just finished rearranging the presents. Mary watched with a loving smile as George groaned and stood up from the tree skirt. Her husband really was marvelous. She didn't know that when they first got married. She just knew that her parents liked him, that he'd just graduated from Oxford, and that at twenty, she was already spoiled goods.

Mary's first love ended in an abortion funded by her parents. Her parents never told anyone, but somehow everyone in the neighborhood knew. Dating was no longer an option, which meant marriage wasn't as well. She spent her days avoiding the hateful glares of her parents' contemporaries. The only refuge she found was in walking around Kensington Gardens, where a young Law student saw her, and thought she was gorgeous, but very sad.

In the beginning, Mary thought George was bookish and much too serious. She certainly wasn't interested in him romantically, and when he became too enamored, she told him about her old boyfriend and just what split them up – _anything_ to make him go away. But he told her it didn't matter, and that it didn't lower her in his regard.

It wasn't enough to make her love him, but he did rekindle her dreams of getting married. By all means, their wedding was small and private. There was no mention of it in the newspaper, and they certainly weren't married in the church or by a vicar. The ceremony took place at the summer estate of George's family in Pevensey, and was presided over by a judge. Then they moved to London, and by the time she was pregnant with Peter, she was thoroughly in love with her adoring, indulging, and very geeky husband. The rest was history, and now it was their present.

"I have a kettle on the stove," Mary said as she stepped into the living room. "Some tea will be ready shortly." George turned and smiled tiredly. He had every right to be exhausted. She'd worked him to the bone over the past week, so that Christmas could be perfect. He did everything she asked, with very little grumbling.

Mary gave him _the_ smile, the slight one that made her eyes crinkle, the one that said '_I love you_'. George knew what to do when he saw that smile. He grinned and held his arms open, engulfing her in a tight hug as soon as she was near. He smelled like cedar and the cheap cigars his mother gave him for Christmas.

"You don't have to smoke those, you know," Mary whispered as she wrapped her arms tightly around George's waist. "I have a few Macanudos hidden away for your stocking, but if you'd like, you could have one now." George chuckled and kissed her cheek wetly, laughing outright when she tried to wiggle out of his grip. "Make-up, George, make-up! I don't have enough time to go fix my blush!"

"Mary," he teased lovingly. "Your cheeks have always been pink. Or maybe you've just always been blushing."

"My husband makes me blush," she confessed as she nuzzled her husband's shoulder. "Any time he enters the room, I get all flushed and flustered."

George hummed and held his wife tighter, making Mary sigh happily. "And what does my wife want for Christmas? Diamonds? Chocolate? A new car?"

Giggling, Mary leaned back just enough to look George in the eye. There was love in those blue gems, and humor and warmth. She was just about to say something romantic, when a door slammed open and a cold gust of air burst into the room.

"Mum! Dad! Is anyone here? I'm starving!"

Mary gasped. "Edmund!"

* * *

After six gallons of fresh human blood, Caspian's stomach had mostly settled, but he was still suffering through separation sickness. Everything contributed to his sensory overstimulation, and his jaw was killing him. So maybe taking a commercial plane to London was the worst idea he'd ever had. Sure, he had a plush window seat in business class, far away from the plebian peons, but everybody was typing away on their laptops or flipping book pages as they read.

One noisy bitch was complaining to the flight attendant that the coffee came from Hawaii and not Ethiopia. Her deep-throated, husky contralto voice should've been incredibly sexy, and maybe it was, but Caspian wanted nothing more than to duct tape her mouth shut.

"I paid eleven-hundred Euros for this seat. So far, the champagne has been warm, the blankets are a cashmere _blend_, which is a sin, and the coffee is blander than Folgers Instant horseshit."

'God, what an _asshole_', Caspian thought to himself as he adjusted the sleeping mask over his eyes. Even the thin cotton was agonizingly heavy and itchy with that shrew's constant whining. With a rumbling groan, he leaned back into the leather cushions and clenched his teeth together. His joints were tightening up, and the last thing he needed was lockjaw when he finally got his hands on Lucy again.

"Excuse me." Oh no, it was that women, the nag with the hot voice. Caspian sighed and tentatively lifted the mask from one eye.

As he suspected, she was as gorgeous as her accent and tone. She was dark, maybe Persian via London or New York. Her mouth was dusky and pink, her brows were arched perfectly over the center of her wide set, almond shaped eyes, and her skin was as smooth and rich as caramel with cream. Even her hair was perfect, curly but not frizzy, black but not matte, and it fell elegantly around her square jaw. She looked like someone he would sleep with.

In fact, he had slept with her.

"Oh God, Aravis," he whispered blandly before pulling the black mask down again. "Go back to your seat."

"I know what's under those clothes, Caspian. You can't hide anything from me." She leaned against his side, her breasts pressing soft and warm against his arm. It hurt more than mistaking a burning clothes iron for a telephone.

"Get off of me or I will make sure that Shasta meets every single one of your living ex-boyfriends, starting with me."

He heard her hiss like a snake and pull back.

"You leave him out of this," she whispered. He only had a second to frown before she was ripping the blindfold off his face. The dim light, barely stronger than a candle, had Caspian hunching forward, a hand over his mouth as he tried to keep from vomiting.

"Bitch! Every time you do that, it's like staring into the fucking sun!"

Aravis's laugh rung of cruelty and spite. "It sucks being younger than me, doesn't it?"

Caspian ground his teeth together and tried to ignore her, which was nearly impossible. Aravis was almost fourteen-hundred years old. She was his superior in every way. She was faster, stronger, and could take him out with no problem.

"Why are you trying to be someone else? I thought you'd worked out all of your aggression back during Reconquista."

He stared at that dark woman, that black widow. Once, they'd been lovers, when he was very young, barely one-hundred-years old. At that age, he loved power and sex and violence. Aravis was all those things and more. She was a Saracen princess, and as a vampire, she was Calormene. It was her family, and they were old and highly influential.

For nine years, they romped, fucked and feasted everywhere they went. They spent some of their time in Aragon, Caspian's home and heritage. But mostly they spent their time in Barcelona, Catalonia, where they bought a villa by the Mediterranean. Its master bedroom faced the sea. Their servants were all young, good-looking and delicious.

But their relationship was not based on love, so it couldn't survive Reconquista. Reconquista was the last of the Crusades. Over a period of eight-hundred years, several Christian kingdoms forced the Moors out the Iberian peninsula, Aragon being one of them. Aravis never forgave him for it, which was devastating to the new vampire. But their split forced him to return to his humanity, where he saw that he had almost become a monster. From then on, he tried to stay as close to humans as he could.

"If you're referring to our recent encounter, that wasn't _all_ me. In fact, that wasn't my kill." Aravis bent over slowly, seductively, and kissed his throat. It burned him worse than silver. Caspian whimpered and tried to get away from her, but she held him to her with a single hand wrapped around his wrist. "Miraz left you that little present."

_Miraz_.

Miraz was the epitome of evil and everything that was wrong with vampires. Her was brooding, malicious, promiscuous and a tyrant. Even though he was younger than Aravis, he was her superior, if only because he terrified her. Miraz was so oily and despicable that no one would even attempt to rein him in. Caspian tried once, and it almost killed him. The only thing he could do now was avoid the beast.

However, taking a human for a lover was very unusual, and in some ways punishable.

"Miraz doesn't frighten me," Caspian said with the bravery of man who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. "He has no power in England. He can only assert his authority in Andorra."

"Do you plan on staying in London forever? That's Jadis's palace."

"I don't care, Aravis!" he hissed with deadly venom. "Now leave me alone before I make sure Cor leaves you forever."

Aravis sighed, but she retreated to her own seat, but not before she gave him one final piece of advice.

"By the way, that perfume you bought her for Christmas? It smells _terrible_."

* * *

"Um… Où est la pharmacie?"

"Allez tout droit! Puis prennez à gauche!"

"I really have no fucking clue what you're saying."

Lucy's train, a Eurostar 'Three Capitals', was holed up in Paris because of a mechanical problem with the electrical system. Just as they were about to enter the Channel Tunnel, the lights flickered briefly, then went out altogether. Immediately, they went back to Gare du Nord (Paris's North Station) for repair work. No matter the reason, she was trapped on a crowded platform with seven-hundred-fifty other irritated passengers, English-to-French phrasebook in hand as she tried to find some aspirin.

She was talking, or trying to talk to a guard, who may have just been a guy in a uniform. She could've been talking to a cop or a Nazi for all she knew. It wasn't going too well, since he spoke French and she only spoke English. On top of everything else, some of that English was the King's English and some of it was Sussex English, her family being from the civil parish of Pevensey in East Sussex. So basically, even the few French who admitted to knowing English had a hard time understanding her.

This one clearly had no idea what she was saying. The tall, bearded man just shook his head and pointed at something. It may have been a pharmacy, but there were so many God damned people clogging her view that she had no idea what was going on or where she was. And, Christ, everything was in fucking French.

"Are you pointing at a pharmacy or a prostitute?" she asked with a snarl when she turned back around, but there was no one. The prick had left her alone, with an empty stomach and a migraine. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Every other passenger was buzzing and moving. The platform was a beehive, and everyone was intent as stinging anyone they could. Lucy was pricked, punched and pinched, all by unseen hands and apparently by accident. Being a nice girl and a poor shot, she just inched over to the ladies' room, luggage in hand as he forced herself through the tight press of bodies. She smelled sweat, vomit, cheap perfume and motor oil, and the collective stench was beginning to soak into her hair and clothes. It was like having gangbang sex with the entire Leeds United squad or Gérard Depardieu.

Miraculously, there wasn't a line to get into the bathroom, because everybody was afraid of missing their train, as was Lucy. But, as ashamed as she was to admit, she was about to cry. Stepping through the throng, with strangers all around, she was reminded of how very alone she was. Lucy began to wonder if she was the one to blame in Caspian's behavior.

Had she tried to suppress the fact that he was a vampire? She hated enchantment, avoided the word blood, and any time Caspian even alluded to feeding on her, she viciously shot him down.

As she hauled her luggage through the restroom doorway, doubt made her frown and sigh unhappily. Who was she to deny Caspian's existence as a vampire? She'd willingly entered into a relationship knowing he wasn't human.

Lucy slowed to a crawl when she finally made it into the women's sitting room. The walls were salmon-colored, with one wall completely covered in a single wall-to-ceiling mirror. There were several black leather couches scattered, and the toilets were just an archway beyond. Both spaces were empty, which Lucy was just fine with.

Letting go of her suitcases and backpack, Lucy collapsed onto one of the sofas, her thin legs tucked neatly beneath her as she leaned back into the cushions. Some French announcement grumbled fuzzily through the station's intercom system. Her French was awful, but she was able to pick out three phrases; _Je suis désolé_ (sorry), _Demain_ (tomorrow), _Le matin_ (in the morning), and _Joyeux Noël_ (Merry Christmas).

"We're sorry, but the train will not be ready until tomorrow morning," Lucy whispered, filling in the phrase's blanks with the most logical answers. "Merry Christmas."

Outside she heard shouts of anger, babies crying and people swearing in a plethora of languages. But she just sat there, worn out and feeling sorry for herself. The salmon colored walls were getting pinker and more annoying by the second. _'Who picks salmon for a paint color,'_ Lucy thought as she stared at the wall ahead of her.

Then something very odd happened. The wall, blank and featureless, began to blur and swirl. Her skin became hotter, with sweat condensing in her bra under her breasts. Each breath she took became heavier and uneven. The apex between her legs started to tingle and beat in time with her quickening heartbeat. Feeling so turned on by _nothing_ was disturbing and out of character, and… and…

Very similar to glamour.

"Jesus Christ!" Lucy shouted at the top of her lungs as she launched herself off the couch to hide. Wiggling on her belly like a snake on hot sand, she crawled beneath the sofa, uncaring of the trash and dust that gathered in her hair. Her entire body still ached, but now fear had started crowding out that lust.

There was a vampire in the bathroom, and God damn it, he or she was very horny, and _very_ bad at hiding it.

"Go away, go away, go _away_," she whispered as she pressed her face into the ground. Maybe if the vampire didn't see her face, he would just go away and leave her be.

"What are you doing under the couch?" A deep, Spanish voice asked her with a laugh. "It smells like hell under there."

Lucy's eyes went wide, and she wished she was wrong. But then the vampire stepped over to the side of the couch, the polish on his black Ferragamo loafers gleaming in the fluorescent light. Caspian wore those shoes when they went to see 'La Traviata'.

"What the hell are you doing in the ladies' room?" she hissed when he crouched down. Because of his height, only his knees were visible. She didn't like talking to his knees.

"I didn't come here to pee, if that's what you're asking." Lucy saw one of his dark hand reach for her. She smacked it away before it could reach her.

"Go away, you son of a bitch. You're not supposed to be in here!" Caspian sighed, and groaning, he lay on his back and tilted his head in her direction. "I'm sorry about the whole glamour thing."

Lucy glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "What the hell was that?"

The way he stared at her, with such obvious longing and love, was enough to soften her resolve to hate him. "It usually happens after a long separation from a wife or a girlfriend. I forced your feelings to reflect mine. That won't happen again." He sounded winsome and lost. Caspian never sounded that way.

"You're right it won't happen again, because you're about to go away!"

"No I'm not."

She laughed.

"Oh yes you are!" she bit out as she turned her head to him. "We broke up, remember? You killed a person, slept with that bitch Avarice, and then you never called me!"

"Aravis."

"What?"

"Her name," Caspian annunciated carefully, "is Aravis, and she's the one who killed him. Also, we did not sleep together. I'll explain this all later, after we've made up and gotten back together."

She scoffed and glared at him.

"What makes you think I want to take you back?"

"I have a private jet arranged to take us to London."

'_A private jet?'_

Lucy sighed.

"Does it have aspirin?"

(break)

Hola! I don't know about all of you fanfiction writers out there, but when I base all of my descriptions on the movie universe of a particular story, I like putting a cast list together for the roles that weren't included.

Here's the cast list for 'Berlin After Dark'.

Gwen – Maribel Verdu

George Pevensie – Jason Isaacs

Mary Pevensie – Olivia Williams

Aravis – Abir Abrar

Jason Isaacs and Olivia Williams played Wendy Darling's parents, George and Mary, in the 2003 version of 'Peter Pan'. As you know, the Lucy Pevensie in my head looks like Polina Semionova, but since Georgie and Rachael Henley played Lucy in the movies, feel free to imagine them when reading. For that matter, feel free to imagine anything you want to. Also, in the first Narnia movie, Lucy's mother was named Helen, and she was played by Judy McIntosh. If you prefer Helen to Mary, and Georgie/Rachael to Polina, that's just fine with me. This story is for you guys, after all.

On a different note… have any of you ever gotten really excited about an idea, that in retrospect wasn't really a smart one? One that turned out to be _waaaaay_ more complicated than you anticipated? One where any planning involved consisted of nothing but giggles?

Well, if you did, you now somewhat understand my dilemma. At first the ballot was fucking awesome. I gave you guys some semblance of control, where in reality I hold the reigns. It's really more of a partnership.

I thought that giving so many choices would make for really interesting combinations. And it did, but I can't really use any of them. It's my fault really.

Take, for example, Narnia Fan, who is one of my favorite reviewers. As the other leading couple, she chose George & Laura. Yes, in the ballot I wrote Mary instead of Laura. In my head, Lucy's parents were always named George and Laura. Then I realized I knew another George and Laura – George and Laura Bush.

Since those names are clearly taken, Laura will now be known as Mary. In Peter Pan, Wendy's father was named George, and her mother was named Mary. It seemed a fitting tribute.

And herein lies the problem. Theoretically, in 'The Prince of Thieves', George and Mary don't exist. Well, they do, but not as characters. I never planned on including them. To do so would really fuck up my brain. So, unfortunately for those who voted for Mary/George, I can't use them.

I have a solution to this problem however.

I'll just write three Christmas specials!

**For 'The Prince of Thieves' Christmas special, the combination will be…**

Theme – Mistletoe/Christmas Morning

Mood – Surprised

Location – Outdoors

Other Lead Pairing – Gwen/Peter

**For 'Lucy and The Future King'**

Theme – Argument

Mood – Sexual

Location – Bedroom

Other Lead Pairing – Glozelle/Prunapismia

**For 'Berlin After Dark'**

Theme – Christmas Morning

Mood – Sexual

Location – Bathroom

Other Lead Pairing – George/Mary

Merry Christmas!


	7. Lord Byron and Augusta Leigh

Christmas was slow to leave the Pevensie household. But somehow, with the strength of three grown, grumbling men, the lights and ornaments were taking down, the tree was dragged out, and seventeen pounds of leftovers were consumed by New Year's Eve. Caspian ate nothing; and while he was discreet about it, a certain golden boy was beginning to notice.

"You're looking a little pallid," Peter said to him one afternoon. It was a Saturday in January. The girls were in the kitchen, packing a picnic basket they planned on taking to Kensington Gardens. Edmund and Mr. Pevensie were watching American football, simply because watching sports was something men did. Caspian was in the butler's pantry, putting wine glasses away into the mahogany cupboards with obvious care – and almost unnoticeable longing.

He was so engrossed with his task that he didn't notice Peter come in. Being startled was something Caspian wasn't used to.

"Jesus!" he hissed, nearly dropping a Waterford crystal snifter. Peter reached out and caught the cup seamlessly before it could hit the dark wood floor. His hand, large and square, held the glass more gently than Caspian thought possible for such a big guy.

Lucy hadn't been lying when she said Peter was athletic. He was tall and heavily muscled, so much that even his jaw was meaty. Next to the towheaded doctor, Caspian couldn't help be feel slightly inadequate. Then there was the fact that Peter and Lucy were best friends and did everything together, and that Peter was the first person to know about their breakup. Nearly every time Caspian tried to find private time with Lucy, Peter was there by her side, brooding and disapproving.

Now the two men were together, alone together for the first time ever, in a very small room that could barely contain both of them (and their egos).

"I'm not feeling well," he bit out through clenched teeth as Peter blatantly reached in front of him and put the sifter away. Caspian bristled when Peter effortlessly put the glass on the top shelf (as he had to rise onto the balls of his feet to complete the same task).

"Maybe you should eat something?" Peter's question was and laced with suggestion. "My mother cooks a _mean_ filet mignon. It's nice and bloody."

The look Caspian gave him was measured and guarded. His mouth was still, his eyes were flat, and his jaw was relaxed. Nothing was revealed in his expression

"I don't like beef, but Lucy knows that. She'll be sure to tell your mother." The satisfaction in Caspian's tone was evident and it made Peter clench his teeth and narrow his eyes.

"You are _so_ lucky that Lucy is an adult and has to make her own decisions. If I had any say in what she -"

"You have a say in _everything_ she does," Caspian seethed bitterly. "Sometimes I think your interest in your sister is more than platonic or familial."

Peter sneered, bearing his teeth as his lip curled up. "And if it is," he began slowly, pointedly, "there's nothing you can change about that."

Caspian was just about to declare that Peter was sick and dangerous, but something about Peter's face caught his eye. Over the previous three weeks, he had done everything he could to avoid the younger, taller man, but he still knew what the man looked like. He had a square face, thin mouth and straight eyebrows. Peter also had blue eyes that varied from navy to baby blue. But now… his irises were ringed by a gold bang. It was almost unnoticeable, just a small color variation that could've been just the way the light hit his eyes.

"Have your eyes always been gold?" he asked quietly, his brows knitted together. Peter smiled.

"Ask Lucy."

Peter grinned at the sour look on Caspian's face. His lips thinned and puckered, as there was no witty rebuttal waiting on the tip of his tongue. Lucy's older brother was the victor in this round, and he knew it.

From the kitchen, both men heard Lucy giggle sweetly, as if she'd just enjoyed some subtle joke. Peter and Caspian simultaneously stood at attention, their shoulders squared and their chins tilted up arrogantly. They stared at the other with frightening intensity, judging who knew that laugh better. Was it Peter, who grew up with it, or Caspian, who elicited it more often?

"Stop talking about Gerard Butler, ladies." Peter called to the kitchen. "You're all far too old to have schoolgirl crushes."

Lucy laughed again. "But he's so cute!"

Caspian's mouth fell open at the response, causing Peter to wink and grin meanly.

"My Lucy is so easy to read."

* * *

Kensington Gardens were cold and snowy, but the ice rink in Hyde Park was closing in two days. Everyone put on their skates and scarves, and puttered around on the ice with very little talent, but lots of laughter. Susan and Caspian spent most of their time on a bench, as Susan was a total prima donna and Caspian didn't have the energy. He hadn't eaten since leaving Germany, and everything was becoming exponentially tiring.

"They've always been best friends," Susan said idly as Lucy collapsed into Peter's arms, causing both of them to fall flat on their asses. Lucy's knees were already wet from her constant tumbling, and Peter wasn't in better condition. They looked so happy, so at ease. It was making Caspian even sicker to his stomach.

"I tried being friends with Peter when we were younger, but we always had to do what he wanted. He wasn't unfair about it. He was just the boss." Susan smiled widely and turned her gaze back on Caspian. Feeling her eyes on him, he shifted so that he was looking at her instead of the carnage that was Peter and Lucy.

Lucy's older sister really was a stunner. Tall and trim, her natural hair was black, but she'd dyed it to a lighter shade of brown, to match her flawlessly tan skin (whose color was due to a bottle, not the sun). She had a full mouth and high, round cheekbones. How she was single was a mystery.

"So what happened between you and Lucy?" she asked loudly, as there were nearly two hundred people skating that day. Susan could barely be heard above the din of ice scraping and people laughing raucously. "All I know is that it was bad, and that you were the first one to apologize."

"I apologized because it was my fault," he informed her as he tightened the black scarf around his neck. "You'll have to let Lucy be the one to tell you what happened." _'If she ever tells you.'_

Susan smiled coquettishly and tucked her hair behind her ear. "So how serious are you and Lucy? She's very young and you're only her second boyfriend."

"Who's her first?" Caspian asked automatically. It had become second nature in the past few weeks to act suspiciously when it came to the men in Lucy's life.

"How serious are you?" Susan reiterated firmly. Caspian's brow furrowed as he gawked at her, confused beyond belief. Susan didn't blush under the attention. In fact, she seemed to glow brighter the heavier his gaze grew. He couldn't be sure, but Caspian suspected that Susan was interested in him. The lack of blood in his stomach was dulling his senses, but he could vaguely smell her arousal. Being solely attuned to Lucy, Susan's scent was almost pungent.

"Very serious," he said definitively. Susan shrugged her shoulders noncommittally and turned back to her family. He eyed her statuesque profile for a while, and deduced that she was looking for a weak spot in his devotion to her sister. She wouldn't find one, but he knew if she _thought_ she found one, Peter would kill him.

"Is Peter as close to Edmund as he is to Lucy?" Caspian asked cautiously as he also turned back to the ice. Lucy and Peter were at the far end, gloved hand in gloved hand as they weaved around other skaters.

"Heavens no!" Susan giggled good-naturedly. "He's never been close to any of us, except for Lucy. And he hasn't always been this close to her."

"What happened?" Lucy fell hard on her hip, making Caspian's heart clench in fear, but Peter pulled her up easily with one hand. The defiant look on Caspian's face matched his jealousy.

"I'm not sure." Susan replied airily. "They've always been friendly. He's her big brother. But when he went away to medical school, something just snapped. Maybe it was loneliness, but they latched onto one another desperately. Desperately. I think it might've had something to do with physical inadequacies, though I could never figure out why."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Susan was beautiful, but damn, sometimes she just didn't know how to successfully use the English language.

"Well, around the time that they really became best friends, Peter must've started going to the gym like crazy. He gained about fifty pounds of muscle in less than three months, but his diet also drastically changed. He just couldn't stop eating. Lucy was the only one of us who could cook, so maybe that's why they bonded."

"So Peter wasn't always fit?"

She laughed again. "No, he's always been an athlete. Always. But he just got physically bigger, all from muscle mass. Before that though, he was sort of lean. Quicker, lighter."

Caspian opened his mouth to grill him further, but she held her hand up. "That's all I know really. They never talked to me about anything, and frankly I never asked. What Peter and Lucy do is their business."

"Oh," she said after a minute. "I do know one thing. When Peter broke up with his longtime girlfriend a couple years ago, Lucy was the first person he went to. Maybe that's why she went to him."

Caspian sighed and sagged against the bench. In all fairness, there was no way that he could force her to leave Peter. That was impossible and just arrogant. But, dear God, they really were inseparable. Now they were _clinging _ to each other to keep from tripping, and Lucy's face was red from laughter and not the wind.

But when she saw Caspian, she gave him a smile that was wide and clearly directed at him. Then, to Peter _and_ Caspian's surprise, she detached herself from her brother and stumbled towards him on her skate's toe picks.

As she wove through all the different children and adults, Peter stared at her longingly in distress, his mouth open and his brows drawn closely. This time, Caspian was sure of it.

Peter's eyes were icy blue and laced with gold sparks around his pupil, which were pinpoint small.

Many humans had eyes like Peter's. It was just the blue variant of hazel eyes. Some people even called them turquoise. But standing there against a grey and white background, surrounded by people and barren trees, there was something eerie about him. Perhaps it was just the determination and viciousness, but Peter looked like an animal more than anything.

Then he shook his head and blinked, and his eyes were navy again. Caspian stared at him for a few more minutes, trying to find any changes in his build or form, anything that was less than human. But all he saw was a severely overprotective and brooding young man with creepy blue eyes.

Freak.

"Lucy!" he called as he shoved people out of his way. No one was knocked down, but he cleared a pretty wide path. "Be careful. Don't wear your skates onto the concrete."

"Oh Peter," Lucy called back as she down the steps. "Must you worry about everything?"

"Trust me, I must," he growled when Caspian bounded forward, just as Lucy's ankles trembled a little too much. He caught her in his arms just before she fell for the nth time, holding her strongly against his chest as she laughed and wobbled on her skates. She took hold of his neck with her hands and pulled back to look at him with those big, glassy eyes he loved so much.

"You look ill," she said with a gasp, her laughter dying instantly. Caspian tried to smile, but he just couldn't muster the energy or the emotion behind it.

"I'm hungry," he said simply, with a shrug of his shoulders. Anybody else would've thought he just needed chicken soup, but Lucy shifted uncomfortably in his hold and slid her palms down to his chest.

"Does it hurt? The first time, I mean." She was staring at his throat, still precariously balanced on his skates. At first, he thought she was talking about virginity, something she no longer possessed. Then he realized, just through her stillness, that she was talking about… that she was willing to… that they _might_…

"No," he said firmly. "Absolutely not. It won't scar either." With her eyes off of his, Caspian was able to sneak a glance at Peter. He was descending down the steps to the booth where he'd rented his skates. For a big guy, he was surprisingly graceful.

"If I use your femoral artery," Caspian continued, leaning forward so that he was breathing in her ear, "it will feel very nice, especially if we're… well, you know. It'll feel even better if we're in the shower."

Okay, so that was a lie. But flowing hot water usually masked many smells, especially if there was scented soaps and shampoos involved. Not that Peter… not that anyone in her family had a heightened sense of smell. He would've know if… someone in her family wasn't human. He was too old not to know

"Can you wait until tonight? When everyone's gone to sleep?"

Caspian smiled and drew her closer. Over her shoulder she saw Peter marching towards them, boots in hand.

"_Absolutely_."

* * *

Hey. HEY. Guess what? As of the next chapter, I'm going to bump this story's rating up to M/R. I really have no choice in the matter, not if I want to go into detail. I've also decided to go with Narniafan's chapter idea.

Happy New Year!


	8. The Origin of Love

Christmas, New Years, and Easter passed with little more than a sigh from the Pevensie family. Edmund found work at a local law firm, Susan went back to her job as a secretary, and Caspian began an illicit affair with Lucy. There was really no other way to describe it. Though he tried to persuade her otherwise, Lucy decided to remain with her parents through the end of the year. Peter made the same decision, joining a local private practice as a general physician. This made any open affection between the couple impossible. Instead of spending long hours in bed together, they usually ended up in some dark corner with only minutes to spare. Once upon a time, Lucy despised glamour, but now she needed it to finish quickly – otherwise they were both left wanting. It was tiring and dirty. They were adults. They shouldn't have needed to sneak around like cheating spouses.

Still, a few moments of privacy and sexual gratification were better than none. In fact, Caspian needed intense physical contact every now and then with his younger girlfriend. True to her word, Lucy let Caspian feed directly from her blood, fang to vein. And true to his word, Caspian made it almost ridiculously pleasurable. He had to; otherwise their 'first time' would've been a complete disaster.

It certainly was a night to remember.

* * *

Being around Lucy's brother Peter caused Caspian come to the conclusion that he was the Golden Retriever to Peter's German Sheppard. Everything Peter did was meant to intimidate and protect. The way he carried himself, shoulders back and chest pushed forward, made him appear larger and broader. Whenever he saw Caspian, his jaw was clenched and tight. Most people who did that looked like they were sucking on lemon drops. Peter just looked severe and closed off.

Caspian, on the other hand, always looked available and friendly. It was a curse, really. Though his eyes were nearly black, next to Peter's icy blue and lifeless holes, they were as warm as hot chocolate. His stance was relaxed and a little slouchy at times, and in terms of build he was much narrower than his chief rival for Lucy's affection. To make matters worse, he apparently had a sweet smile, because the Pevensie women were always answering with sweet smiles of their own.

It didn't help that Susan and Lucy weren't much shorter than him. Lucy at least could barely rest her chin on his shoulders when standing. Susan, on the other hand, only had to tilt her head up to rub her nose against his. He knew this because she gave him an Eskimo kiss one afternoon. She'd ambushed him while he was taking down the last of the mistletoe. It was one of the creepiest moments of his adult life.

Never in his life had Caspian felt more insecure. He was competing with a bastard for a girlfriend who could barely look at him. There was a siren on his tail, and Edmund… Christ, he didn't know anything about Edmund. They'd never even spoken, or even been alone in the same room together. Lucy's mother was charming if a bit aloof with him. And her father… the man was scary. Peter tried to be threatening, but George made Caspian shiver in his boots.

The stress was beginning to get to him, as was hunger. Being back with Lucy had erased all of those pesky separation ailments, but with their reunion came a nasty and unfortunate surprise; Caspian was beginning to age dramatically. Crow's feet, wrinkles, grey hair, the works

It was the night of their tryst. Everyone else had gone out to dinner, at Mrs. Pevensie's urging. She'd picked up on the glances Lucy and Caspian had been sharing. Rather than embarrassing her daughter, she decided the young couple needed 'space'. Lucy played along and declared that she wasn't feeling well. Peter had struggled to stay home at first, but Mary physically dragged him through the door by his ear.

"Take care of my baby," Mary soothed as she finally shoved her son down the steps. "There's chicken soup in the pantry by the marshmallows, I have a pot of water on the stove for tea, George keeps a heating pad in his study, and there's an unopened bottle of champagne in the fridge." She winked. "If you need candles, there are some fresh ones under the sink in the guest bathroom."

Grinning, Caspian strode over to the door to close it for her. "Thank you, Mary." His fingers drummed on the door's white paint. "When will you all be back?"

Mary smiled and adjusted her purse's shoulder strap. "Probably after midnight. My boys know how to drink." Just as he was about to make a witty remark, Mary's copper eyes narrowed as a frown crossed her pale face. "I think you have flour in your hair. I suggest you comb it out before Lucy sees you."

"Flour?" he asked with a confused note in his voice. "I haven't been anywhere near flour."

"Hmm." Mary shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe it's talcum. Have a good night." She gave him a closed-mouth smile, turned around, and started walking down the steps. George herded her into his car, a silver 1998 Land Rover, and then they drove off. Caspian was never so happy to see such a charming group of people leave him alone.

He watched the SUV for a minute, just long enough to see it make a left turn. As soon as it was out of sight, Caspian slammed the door shut and silently ran over to the refrigerator. He grabbed the champagne, balanced it in one hand and darted to the butler's pantry. Two cut crystal flutes later, and he was flying up the stairs into the guest bathroom. It was too small for what he had planned, the shower being no bigger than a large bucket, but that's where the candles were.

"Good, red and unscented. Sexy," he said as he crouched on his heels and pulled the wicker basket out from under the sink. There were several scarlet tea lights and pillar candles, as well as a box of matches. Sighing in relief, he carefully placed the glasses in the basket and stood up. Caspian was about to smile at his reflection in the mirror when he saw the flour Mary was referring to. On his left temple was a grey streak bleeding into his hairline.

"That won't do," he joked as he went to wipe it away with a towel he found by the faucet. But it didn't go away. It didn't even smear. Frowning, he tried again. Nothing happened. Biting back a sigh, he turned the tap on and dunked the towel's corner under the flowing water. When he wiped the grey stripe with it, the only thing it did was get his hair wet. He started scrubbing angrily, his fingers scratching back and forth, back and forth. Nothing changed.

With a sour frown, he pulled his hands away and ran them over his face. His skin was cold, but more than that, it felt puckered and dry. He didn't have baby's bottom smooth skin, but it didn't feel like sandpaper either. Curious, he looked down at his fingers. Woven around his knuckles were silver and black threads. The color could best be described as salt and pepper.

"Jesus Christ, no!" Caspian bent forward and shoved his face in the mirror. The corners of his eyes were crinkled heavily, and on either side of his mouth were deep-set lines. His normally black hair was striped grey and white. There was an odd milky sheen to his eyes, a thin, blue film. He could see just fine, but there was definitely something covering his irises. "Cataracts? Really?"

Caspian should've known better. He'd told Lucy explicitly that he'd age without blood. He remembered that conversation fondly. She got naked shortly after. He just didn't know he'd age twenty years in less than six hours.

He really did look forty-eight, and very unsexy. Nobody wanted to sleep with their grandfather.

To his relief, Caspian could still feel his own muscle tone. At least he hadn't started to sag in unfortunately places. Once, when he was barely one-hundred years old, every inch of him had gone soft. He'd looked like a used condom.

But now there was no time to wait and see if he could recover. The only reason he hadn't told Lucy's family he was a vampire was for her sake. And if she wanted him to keep that secret, she fucking _owed_ him.

Dropping the basket of candles, he turned tail and ran up the stairs. He could sense the water running before he heard it, hot and slightly metallic as it bled from under the door. Underneath all that steam, Lucy's faint scent mixed with coconut-lime shaving lotion and green apple hair removal wax. Caspian couldn't help but smile. Either she wanted to cut down on their bathing time, or she hadn't shaved or waxed since they broke up. He couldn't smell the vanilla perfume that permeated her clothing, meaning she was wet, hairless and naked.

He paused just outside the bathroom door, one hand on the doorknob as he pressed his forehead into the wood. They hadn't had sex in a month. Already he could feel her mouth moving hotly over his cock, sliding along every inch with that talented tongue.

Caspian pulled back quickly and slapped his forehead with his free hand. Vulgar language and dreams like that were for werewolves and rugby players. He was a gentleman, a prince even; but he was also desperate and harder than titanium. The need to feed and be with Lucy was a physical ache in his mouth, and between his legs.

Vampires didn't really breathe, but Caspian's chest was heaving with exertion and lust. If he didn't get in there soon, he feared that he might kill her.

The mist wafting over his feet was a pretty good indication that visibility in the bathroom was going to be limited. Lucy probably wouldn't be able to see him too well, and as long as he distracted her, his withered appearance would be no issue.

Having been apart from her so long, he should've felt shy over what promised to be a marvelous evening. Instead, he felt self-assured and frustrated. He couldn't just barge in there though, pants off and hips thrust forward. So, with a deep and needless breath, he pulled himself together, turned the doorknob, and walked in.

It was like stepping into a sauna. Apparently the Pevensie townhouse had a tankless water heater because the room was filled with steam. The mirror was dripping, droplets were condensing on the ceiling, and the ground was slick. The wet heat was so overwhelming that his clothes were damp and clingy within seconds.

"I forget that you like to boil when you bathe," he said loudly as he sat on the toilet and started peeling of his shirt. For being in such a traditional house, the bathroom was surprisingly modern. The entire color palette was dark and muted, with soothing gray-green paint on the walls. There was a wide vanity constructed from dark walnut situated under a single-paned mirror; its countertop was made of black granite flecked with green feldspar. Inlaid into that granite was a rectangular, under-mounted sink glazed in white porcelain. Both the floor and the shower were tiled in slate, and instead of a shower curtain, there was nothing but glass.

And even though that glass was fogged up, he could still see his spritely sylph bent over as she shaved her legs. Nothing in detail, of course, but he could see the round curves of her butt and breasts.

He _needed_ to get in there.

"I love this bathroom," he choked out, trying desperately to talk to her. He didn't want to frighten the poor girl, after all. He just wanted to fuck her and get something to eat.

Okay, he wanted to love her as well, but that love was not part of the current equation; and neither was conversation apparently.

"Get in here before I change my mind," she bit out as she stood back up. "And Peter was the decorator."

Instantly Caspian's fangs dropped, as swift and deadly as a rattlesnake's. Cold blood started coating the roof of his mouth, thick like syrup but as bitter as coffee sweetened with salt. There was nothing like intense jealousy to fuel his need for domination.

He couldn't get naked fast enough. Buttons flew as he ripped his shirt off, bouncing and pinging on the tiles and glass. His khaki pants slithered down his thighs to the ground as soon as he pulled off his belt, thanks to a bit of magic.

Caspian shook out the rest of his anxiety, bouncing on the balls of his feet a few times for good measure. He took a deep breath, through his shoulders back, and pulled the shower door open. Lucy was standing under the showerhead, her face directly under the spray. Through the pouring water, he could say mascara smudged underneath her eyes. She'd always been horrible at taking off cosmetics. He remembered the first time she'd gotten drunk in front of him. She'd been so tired and sick that he had to wipe off her makeup and lay her out in bed. That night, he'd soothed her headache just by holding her until the morning.

The memory was so relaxing and loving, it was enough to calm his frazzled nerves and frantic bloodlust. It made him pause and smile softly. How odd that after hundreds of years full of grandeur and adventure, it was the little memories that gave him the most pleasure. Odder still was the slightly plain, but very endearing British college student who had captured his heart.

Closing the shower door behind him, he circled around until he was directly behind her. The clumsiness and agitation he'd been suffering had disappeared, and in their place, he found a sort of grace that was still wanting, but not eager.

There were a million things he could've said as he stepped forward, his chest pressed against her back. As he wrapped his arms around her waist, he could've complimented her slimness or prettiness. He could've told her that her hair was smooth when he tilted his cheek against the crown of her head. When she went stiff as a rock in his hold, there was a joke waiting for her right on the tip of his tongue. But there was only one thing he _wanted_ and _needed_ to say.

"I love you," he intoned with all the honesty in the world.

Lucy gasped and spun in his hold, nearly knocking his jaw clean off with her nose. There was still mascara trailing under her eyes like black tears. She looked like a rather confused and very tearful panda.

"Now don't cry," he whispered as he cupped her cheeks in his hands, smiling when Lucy hiccupped. "We both knew this would happen. Well, I knew and maybe you hoped."

He could tell that she was doing her best to keep from sobbing, just by the way her lower lip trembled. Caspian felt his throat tighten painfully. There was no way, absolutely _no_ way she didn't love him. He knew it. He could smell it. So why was she so… weepy?

"Where do we go from here?" came her teary question a minute or two later. "What happens now?"

"I'm just talking about tonight," he laughed. "We have all the time in the world to figure things out."

Since he had nothing but time, being immortal and all, Caspian decided to pursue a more leisurely course. After all, they had the whole night to enjoy one another. Lucy, however, had other plans.

"Can we, you know, get this over with?" she questioned meekly, her left hand sliding over her belly and between her legs. He thought he was just about to get a free show, but her palm soon covered the inside of her right thigh, directly over her femoral profunda.

"You did your homework," he ground out heavily, his throat clenching with hunger. The steam must've been very heavy if she couldn't see how starved he looked. His eyes were narrowed dangerously, like those of a hungry lion. He didn't pounce with a roar though. No, he went in with a _purr_.

Caspian had only a few rules – no smokers, no alcoholics, and no men. Smokers tasted bad, alcohol was a blood-thinner, and his bloodlust was sexually attuned to women. Other than that, he wasn't too picky. Well… at least until he met Lucy. Sex and blood went together like peanut butter and chocolate, so orgies were often the order of the day. Now that he had Lucy, he couldn't even imagine being unfaithful or violent. He would take it slowly, maybe coax her through a long orgasm and bite down when her peak was at its highest.

Fighting his desire to pound into her like a jackhammer, he softly took hold of her face with both hands. Caspian smiled, briefly thumbed her cheeks, and bent down for the gentlest of kisses. She was still as death as his mouth moved against hers, but after exactly one minute, her jaws parted. Caspian took the invitation immediately, his tongue sliding in through her lips to tangle with hers. Lucy tentatively responded, pressing her body ever so slightly against his. He could feel her frantic heartbeat echoing through the silky wet nipples brushing his chest – she must've been terrified. Nothing but glamour would put her at ease quickly enough.

Using glamour was pathetically easy at Caspian's age. When it came to the glamour Lucy needed, all he had to do was think of great sex, of the strongest sensuality. But since every orgasm they shared was fantastic and overpowering, he needed a stronger memory; and the strongest he had was of their first night.

Closing his eyes, Caspian recalled the rain, the fear and hope, the idle banter in the car, and then the hours of sighing, grunting and mewling. He remembered every position, from pressing her into a window, to taking her from behind before his closet mirror. _That_ had to be his favorite position ever. He had one hand between her legs, fingers flicking mercilessly over her clit, the other palming her breasts without mercy. Inside, she was always taut and never stretched, but from behind, when her legs were barely parted, her tightness was almost painful. Each thrust had to be forceful and hard, otherwise sliding in even once would've taken forever. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open as his hips rolled and rocked against her ass. Lucy really did have the most beautiful expression when she was overly stimulated. She didn't squint her eyes or purse her lips. Women who did that looked like they were in pain or just bored. His Lucy would bite down on her lower lip or inhale sharply, like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room. Her eyelashes would flutter and her shoulders would pull back, pushing her breasts high into the air; and with the mirror in front of her, he could watch every inch of her body and the way it reacted to pleasure.

All of a sudden, the real Lucy was moaning and shivering like she was in anguish. She snatched one of the hands holding her face and thrust it between her legs, pressing it eagerly against her slit. Caspian growled and forcefully shoved two fingers deep within her, scraping and stroking her g-spot like it was an itch that needed a desperate scratching. His thumb massaged her clitoris harder than he intended, but she seemed to be enjoying it, a needy moan shoved down his throat as she kissed him voraciously. Her mouth pulled and nipped at his, their tongues practically sparring with no victor in sight.

Then one of her hands dove down to his cock, her fingers wrapping around it rather possessively. They pulled and gripped relentlessly, her thumb passing over the tip of his penis so firmly it hurt. He gasped and choked, pulling away from her lips to moan like an animal. In revenge, he forced another finger into her, stretching her nearly to the limit. He only managed to pump his hand once before she pushed him away and into the wall behind him. Caspian barely had time to suck in one breath before Lucy fell to her knees, her mouth instantly wrapping around the length of his member, sucking and licking and biting. With one hand she teased the base of his dick, and with the other she slid her fingers under his to tickle his perineum. Caspian's eyes clenched shut, the muscles in his stomach tightening as he groaned. Without much thought as to whether or not he was hurting her, he fisted both hands in her hair, unknowingly tugging and pulling at her tresses. He knew she was in no pain though. The air was so heavy with glamour and the scent of her arousal that she probably seconds away from climaxing; but he didn't want her to orgasm alone. He wanted her slickness coating his hands or mouth, not the floor of the shower where it would be wasted.

Gritting his teeth to keep from shouting her name, he yanked her mouth off his manhood, hissing as he pulled her up for a quick and bruising kiss. She let out a deep moan and grabbed his ass with both hands, hauling his hips against hers. Between her legs she was hot and practically _dripping_ with wetness. This was the strongest response she had ever shown, and it only made him harder.

There was a low seat in the shower opposite the faucet, crowded with bottles of soap and Susan's numerous hair products. It only took one sweep of his hand to clear it before he sat down heavily. Caspian spun Lucy around, her back to his chest. Forcing her onto her hands and knees like he was going to spank her (which would've been fun), he licked his fingertips and dragged them down her back. She was shaking sporadically, clearly aroused but wanting something more than just a back massage. From this position he could easily mount her, but instead he rewarded her by ramming the first two fingers inside of her, instantly taking up a vicious pace. The walls around his knuckles shuddered and grew slicker, matched by her endless moaning and wordless begging. With a cruel smile, he reached around with his right hand and pinched the button of flesh at the top of her sex, hard enough that she would be sensitive for days.

However the result was instant. Lucy shrieked out his name, her back arching so much he thought her spine would break; but it wasn't enough. Caspian kept thrusting his fingers into her with almost sadistic voracity, pushing her higher and higher. Lucy's pleasure was so intense that her arms couldn't support her anymore, forcing her to lean forward and press her cheek against the tiles. It was only Caspian's hands that kept her hips in the air.

"_Please_," Lucy sobbed weakly, the heat and strength of his fingers causing her climax to keep cresting, wave after nearly unbearable wave. Caspian only increased the speed of his hand, his eyes traveling to her legs. On either side of her inner thighs, her femoral artery was throbbing, presumably in time with her orgasm. His stomach rumbled audibly. If he didn't get in there soon, she was going to be exsanguinated, and therefore killed. There was no way in hell his girlfriend was going to die. They hadn't even had sex yet.

Carefully, he withdrew his fingers, letting them linger at her opening before pulling them back completely. Something inside of him, maybe his love for her, made him slow down and truly take care of her. So far he had taken everything from her. He'd forced away her shyness, robbed her of her sanity, and worst of all, taken away her right to say no.

For all intents and purposes, he'd just raped her.

"Hey baby," he soothed as he rolled her onto her back. Lucy was completely limp in his arms. Her cheeks were red and she could barely keep her eyes open. Caspian throat tightened. She was completely and totally exhausted, not to mention still riding out what had to be one hell of an orgasm.

"A few minutes after I heal the wound," he continued, lovingly kissing both cheeks once. "You're going to have to drink some of my blood, otherwise you could pass out."

"But what about you?" she heaved. Caspian smiled wryly, the love in his eyes light and pure. There was a good chance that she might die, but she still put his needs before her own; and at that moment, her needs were still many. Despite the spray of blistering hot water, goose bumps covered every inch of her flawless porcelain skin. Those perfect breasts of hers, high and firm and beautiful, shook with each breath she took. Their light pink tips were so tightly beaded and puckered they must've stung. Using his fingers on them would only make them hurt. But they still needed tending to – all of her needed tending to. He'd pushed her so far that she was about to cross the precipice of pain. She needed to be brought back gently, softly, with the care and skill of a man who loved her.

"When the Earth was still flat," he crooned softly, his voice hitching as he started to sing. He wasn't very good, but it always seemed to soothe her after a rough night.

"When the Earth was still flat," Caspian began again with more confidence, "and clouds made of fire. And mountains stretched into the sky, sometimes higher."

Lucy's eyes, cloudy and unseeing, started to regain their focus and luster. She could only watch as Caspian crawled over her, her mouth slightly parted as he brushed his lips over her throat.

"Folks roamed the Earth, like big, rolling kegs. They had two sets of arms. They had two sets of legs." He struggled with the high notes, but she seemed more distracted by the little kisses he was nibbling along her collarbones. "They had two faces peering out of one giant head, so they could watch all around them as they talked while they read."

When her fingers wove their way into the wet mop of his hair, he briefly pushed himself onto his elbows to look at her face. Her face was lit with a playful grin, and before he knew it, she was guiding his head back to her chest.

"And they never knew nothing of love." He paused the song long enough to cover her left nipple with his mouth, his tongue laving over the tense peak. She hissed through clenched teeth, her nails scraping over his scalp; but his ministrations were tender. He was merely soothing the dull pain while renewing her hunger – no glamour needed. Caspian applied the barest pressure with his lips, soothingly kissing the puckered edges of her areola.

"It was before, oh yeah, the origin of love," he drawled as he regretfully pulled away. He heard her moan in disappointment, but it was smothered by a gasp of pleasure as he renewed his courtesy to her unattended breast. This time his attentions were firmer, more determined. He drew as much of the soft flesh as he could into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he suckled insistently. When he drew unhappily back, her flesh was an angry, bruised red. Being a firm believer in the beauty of symmetry, he returned to her left breast, nibbling the underside of it before repeating the same treatment, until the tips of both breasts were rosy and stiff, almost as stiff as his aching cock. Holy fuck, he wanted to be inside of her.

* * *

And, oh, how she wanted him inside of _her_, filling the throbbing emptiness between her legs. But she let him play around at his own pace. If he wanted to go slow, that was fine. She was still too over stimulated to even think of returning all of his 'favors'. Her nerves were still buzzing with delight and foreplay, and she felt as limp as a ragdoll – the toy, not the cat. Although maybe like the cat. She was purring in any case.

The French called orgasms 'la petit mort'. The little death. Lucy's death certainly wasn't 'little' in any measurable form. It was a fucking plane crash into a mine field in the middle of Hurricane Caspian. It was being stabbed in the heart by the Minotaur while Medusa's hair snakes go all Japanese tentacle rape just before she turns all of Perseus's lackeys into stone. Hell, it was… what was the French phrase for 'the fucking huge death'? (La mort énorme foutue, at least according to Yahoo! Babel fish.)

Just because he'd slammed her with the most mind-blowing orgasm in recorded history… well, that didn't mean she wasn't pissed. Lucy was plenty pissed. Caspian had forced so much glamour onto her, she felt like David Bowie during his Ziggy Stardust stint. It was rape. Sweet, unbelievably exciting rape. Lucy should've been ashamed at how much she enjoyed it, but the truth was she _enjoyed_ it. She loved his roughness, the way he'd manipulated her like some cheap, sleazy puppet. It made her feel womanly and weak.

A couple years earlier, Lucy had watched this one flick, 'Henry and June'. It was about some famous author she'd heard of but never cared for, his total lesbo of a wife, and this French chick they both had the hots for. She'd channel-surfed one Saturday and came upon it about halfway through the first act, so she had no idea what was going on; but it was dark and smoky, and very film noir. The sex scenes were pretty steamy, and Uma Therman was playing the lesbian wife. By the end of the movie Lucy was all at once turned on and extremely bored. It was just one of those movies where "Yeah, it's hot, but they talk too much." The only thing, asides from the shagging, she found interesting was the French chick. Her name was Anaïs Nin, and she was pretty bad ass, all self-confidence and sex appeal. For shit's sake, she was one of the first modern female erotica writers. Lucy thought that she must've been a total dominatrix, a woman on top all the time; a Google search for quotes later proved her quite wrong.

"_I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don't mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don't mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling, be all that I am capable of doing, but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding."_

When Caspian had forced her onto all fours, Lucy realized she wanted to be pursued, fucked and possessed by the vampire at his time, his bidding. She wanted him lying over her. She didn't want to be the leader. There was plenty of time to be pissed later, when his mouth wasn't so busy. Especially since it was about to get busier.

"Caspian," she crooned as she fisted her hands in his hair, forcing him to abandon her tits, at least for now. "Bite me now so we can fuck already."

Caspian's eyes were wide as the Pacific Ocean as they shot to her face. His brows were raised as high as they could go. Surprise was painted all over his expression, but it quickly vanished. Soon his grin was unabashedly lustful, all canines and sex appeal. His fangs had dropped and were denting his lower lip. Fear should've stalled her heart, but there was only heat in her blood and wetness between her thighs.

"As you wish, princess," he replied curtly, and quicker than her eyes could follow, his head was between her legs. Then his fangs were gliding painlessly through the skin of her left thigh, lingering for a few seconds before they retreated. Caspian must've retracted them back to wherever they were usually kept, because his mouth never left her flesh. Immediately he took to suckling the wound, a growl reverberating from his throat to her muscles. Soul shattering pleasure shot to her groin, surprising and completely welcome. It wasn't painful, not at all. It was sinfully pleasant.

Grinning impishly, her hands found his hair again, her wordless moans encouraging, urging him on. 

_'Take what you want,_' she wanted to shout.

After all, she was living darkly and richly in her femaleness.

* * *

Caspian's world focused to a single, white-hot point as his lover's warm blood poured into his mouth. Blood never tasted like copper to vampires. It always tasted like everything that made up the victim – their diet, their hobbies, their health, the whole nine yards. Lucy tasted like the powdered sugar and lemon she put on her crepes. He could taste the rosehip tea she'd had that morning. Her bouquet was rosehip perfume and grilled cheese sandwiches. Caspian felt the orgasm she'd savored pouring hotly down his throat. The love they had for one another settled the rumbling in his stomach. Her youth returned his. Gone were the wrinkles and grey hairs. The cataracts over his eyes disappeared in a quick grey flash, leaving nothing but perfect vision and a sudden clarity.

He took a few more greedy gulps before laving his tongue over the two punctures marks. They healed instantly, without even the faintest of scars. No one would know what went down that down night. What was still going down. As he licked his teeth clean, his shoulders were rigid with tension. The need to claim her was all consuming. Sex and blood went together like peanut butter and chocolate, after all, but he'd just taken a mighty swig of a-b-negative. It figured the love of his life would have a rare and delicious blood type.

"Holy shit," Lucy whispered as Caspian rested his head on her quivering stomach. He laughed, nodding his agreement. It only took a minute for his body to completely heal. Now it was her turn. "Time for something to drink," he groaned as he slipped an arm under her shoulders, drawing her against his chest. Her eyes were bright and her pupils dilated, but slightly unfocused. There was no doubt she'd enjoyed the ride, but now she was missing a pint of the liquid that gave both of them life. But unlike Caspian, she only needed a mouthful to get back on her feet.

Or on her knees, if that's how she wanted it.

Kissing her briefly on the lips, Caspian brought the inside of his wrist and bit down. Before she could say no, he shoved the bleeding skin to her mouth. She was so surprised that she immediately swallowed at least three tablespoons. It was more than enough, and as soon as he'd taken his hand back, the cut closed.

"That tastes _awful_," Lucy groused with a grimace, her eyes screwing shut. Caspian's smirk stretched from ear to ear.

"Trust me, darling. You taste like heaven," he responded, leaning down to lick her lips clean. Lucy caught his tongue between her teeth, reminding him of the promise he made to her.

There was obvious love in the kiss they then shared, but it was overshadowed by pure sex. His mouth pressed relentlessly against hers, her teeth nibbled his lower lip, and before he realized what he was doing, Caspian hauled Lucy to her feet and pressed her back into the wall just under the showerhead. She spread her legs and wrapped them around his waist, trusting his strength. With fresh blood pouring through his veins, he could bench press Big Ben.

In one quick, clean motion, Caspian slid his cock into Lucy's scorching, wet and welcoming embrace. He pushed in all the way to the hilt, holding her waist as her inner muscles adjusted to the sudden intrusion of eight, thick inches of a very hard man. But it was Lucy who made the first move, rolling her hips against his. Neither of them came up for air as he pounded into her, the sounds of slapping flesh mingling with their groans and running water.

In what seemed like minutes, Lucy's sheath clamped down on his dick _hard_, pushing them both over the edge. Caspian hissed into her mouth as he spilled himself inside of her, thrusting into her until she reached her own climax. Lucy's head snapped back as she cried out, his name falling from her lips. He rocked against her as they came back to Earth, the world coming back into focus. Kissing the corner of her mouth, he reluctantly pulled out of her, instantly regretting it. She moaned sullenly, letting her legs unravel back to the ground. Some of his seed dripped down her thighs, but they didn't notice, since Susan was pretty hard to ignore.

* * *

"I know, I know you're in the shower," Lucy's very unwelcome sister shouted as she traipsed up the stairs. "But I really need to take a piss."

Lucy gasped in horror. In Caspian's rush to be with her, he'd forgotten to lock the door. They both stared dumbstruck as the knob turned, and before Lucy could scream no, Susan had pushed her way into the small bathroom.

"It's not like I haven't… oh my God." Susan's sentence ended ominously, her eyes fixed on the couple.

Their embrace was rather innocent. She was holding his shoulders and he was gripping her waist. It was the whole naked thing that had her stunned speechless.

"Tell Lucy I'm next," Peter called out as he walked past the open doorway, as if things couldn't get worse. He was just about to harmlessly pass by when he got the same eyeful Susan did. His response, however, was just a little more violent.

"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF MY SISTER!"

* * *

WOOHOO! YEAH! SEX!

This took forever to write, I know, but wasn't it worth it? And I believe it fills the request of a certain reviewer, ahem.

Sex is now forever a part of this story. You might as well get used to it.

Or you could review and ask me to stop. I might even agree.

REVIEW, for fuck's sake.

Teehee.


	9. The Origin of Love, Part Two

Okay, so… that last chapter was hot. Am I right, or am I right? However, in retrospect, I realize that it was a little confusing at times. Let me clear some things up.

At the beginning of the chapter, four months have passed since Lucy moved back in with her parents. Peter is also living there. Caspian has moved to London to be with her, however in his own flat. Edmund and Susan have their own apartments, but they also live in London.

BUT… the night of Caspian's 'date' with Lucy occurs in January. For the record, except for the first section, that entire chapter was a flashback.

As is this chapter.

* * *

_The Origin of Love, Part Two - Edmund_

* * *

Edmund would never understand his older brother. It wasn't that Peter was overly complicated. His brother was actually pretty straight-forward. He was hardworking, studious, endlessly observant and frighteningly precise. Peter was the Golden Boy, an athletic and heroic doctor. He just resorted to shouting and violence whenever he was agitated; and lately, he seemed to be agitated all the freaking time. Why take the time to understand someone with a mean left hook and a nearly psychotic temper?

"Who the hell does he think he is? Rubbing his greasy claws over my sister – our sister!"

"He would be her boyfriend. They've been that way for the better part of a year," Edmund responded tiredly, leaning back into his bed with a sigh. Both he and Peter had been banished to their old bedroom by their mother, although it was hardly their room anymore. After they'd moved out, she'd gotten rid of all the trophies, posters and leftover laundry. The carpet was replaced, as was their bunk bed. Every trace of her two boys was eradicated, leaving behind a tidy guestroom with beige walls, black furniture, two brand new twin beds, and chocolate colored linens. Susan's boudoir suffered the same treatment. Gone were the massive amounts of pink velvet and feathers. The lime green, Victorian-inspired wallpaper had been ripped down, because it was far too girly. Mary went with the same beige paint and black furniture, but instead of two twin beds, there was a single queen-sized one. She also went with red curtains and blankets instead of brown.

Lucy's was the only room that remained untouched, as she was still living with her parents. Her room had always been cozy, because it was the smallest; but it was a charming space, and recently redecorated, according to Lucy's taste, however, and not her Mother's. The paint on the walls was a soothing shade of smoky purple, and all of the furniture, from the bed shoved against one wall to her tiny writing desk, was pristine and white. She had silver sheers for curtains and a floral-patterned patchwork quilt on her bed. There were no band posters, just a single painting of some cala lilies and two sconces that looked like grape vines, complete with bunches of green glass grapes and lilac scented candles.

It was all Edmund's doing, but since he was gay, decorating came easy. Understanding his brother did not.

"I don't even know what she sees in that stupid Spanish rat," Peter continued ranting, pacing back and forth like a lion in a too-small cage. It was probably best that their mother had locked him up. His immediate response after seeing Caspian pressed against Lucy had been positively vicious and animalistic. He'd charged into the room with a wolf-like growl, his hands stretched to punch straight through the glass and strangle Caspian. Susan yelped and did her best to hold him back, but he roughly pushed her into the toilet. It was sheer luck that their father appeared in time to yank Peter out by the back of his collar. Edmund watched the entire episode from the safety of the hallway. The whole spectacle was actually kind of amusing. Until he saw Caspian's response.

When Peter approached the shower, Caspian wrapped his arm tightly around Lucy's waist, shielding her nudity with his own. His muscles, lean and long, rippled under his skin as he pressed her into his chest. Edmund always suspected that Caspian was as athletic and defined as an English thoroughbred. He just had that look, that hot as hell, natural man-beauty thing. Yeah, that was the word – beautiful. Caspian was beautiful, like… romance novel beautiful. Edmund could totally see Caspian rocking the swashbuckling look, from the tight pants to the leather boots. He'd be like Jack Sparrow, only with awesomely white teeth and silky soft hair.

Yeah, Edmund was attracted to Caspian. And yeah, he occasionally checked out his rockin' bod. But he didn't realize just how powerfully built Caspian was until that night, which was odd. He'd been watching him all week. He'd seen the other man in a t-shirt, and while his biceps were nice, they weren't nearly as shredded the day before. In less than three hours, Caspian had gone from trim to absolutely _cut_. His thighs were hard, his ass was carved from stone, and his stomach was clearly modeled. Hiding all that muscle for more than a week was impossible.

So where had it come from?

* * *

_The Origin of Love, Part Two – Susan_

* * *

Susan was not a loving person, but seeing Lucy in tears as Peter stampeded into the bathroom made her feel all motherly and protective. As soon as their father pulled him back, she leapt into action, pulling towels down from the cabinets to cover the young lovers. Then she quickly escorted Lucy into her old bedroom, which still had a lock – a lock with only one key. A key that Mary was very bad at hiding.

Lucy's face was red from blushing and embarrassed tears. The two of them sat awkwardly at the foot of the bed, staring straight ahead, with about a foot of space between them. Susan was still wearing a cocktail dress and high heels, while Lucy was bundled in one of Susan's slinky nightgowns and a fluffy, terry cloth robe. Neither of them could look the other in the eye.

It wasn't as if Susan didn't love Lucy, or that she didn't pity the younger girl… woman. '_Yes_,' Susan thought to herself bitterly. '_Lucy's a woman now_.' And at that time, she was more of a woman than Susan ever would be. Seeing Lucy and Caspian intimately entwined pressed nearly all of Susan's buttons.

She didn't love Caspian, not the least bit. Sure, she was fiercely attracted to him, but she would never hurt Lucy in anyway. What bothered her was that Lucy had the one thing she didn't. Susan was smarter, prettier, had more friends and every material comfort imaginable, from silk sheets to brand new appliances; but Lucy had a man. Susan had many men, in many different ways, but she'd never _had_ a man. Sure, she had boyfriends and lovers, sometimes at the same time. She'd been proposed to twice, in less than six months no less. But she'd never surrendered herself the way Lucy had. Lucy was willing to open herself up, baring her heart and soul when there was no physical reward. It was just so… mature. Lucy was barely an adult and she'd already settled down for the long run. Susan would never do that. She liked her freedom, she liked her men, and she liked being young. But she loved Lucy more, and if that meant she had to be motherly, then she was going to put on the mom jeans.

"So… read any good books lately?"

"Nope."

* * *

_The Origin of Love, Part Two – George_

* * *

"What the hell was Peter thinking, barging in on them like that? He acted like a rhino on a rampage!"

In spite of a ruined evening, and in spite of his daughter's… delicate predicament, George was still in awe of his wife's beauty and verve. After the disaster in the bathroom, he'd retreated to the relative safety of their bedroom, where he quietly undressed and got ready to sleep. In the background, he could hear his wife shouting at Peter like a drunken banshee. Her voice filled up the house, and probably their neighbors' homes as well. After thirty minutes of nonstop screaming, there was blessed silence. By then, he was tucked into bed with a book in hand, and the nightly news was playing on the television. Although inside he was boiling with rage and mortification, he was in no mood to deal with his children. What would he say anyway? Lucy was an adult, capable of making her own decisions. If she wanted to do the thing with Caspian, who was he to whine? Moreover, he suspected that Mary encouraged their little tryst. Why else would she leave her daughter behind with her devil of a boyfriend?

When Mary returned, her hair was limp with sweat, and nearly all of her make-up was gone – probably from running her hands over her face and hair, something she did when she was blisteringly angry. Her dress was wrinkled, her stockings had runs in them, and one of her shoes was missing. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her crow's feet were deeper than ever. The air around her seemed to crackle with the anger that radiated off of her.

Dear God, was she dazzling!

He remembered their first meeting. Mary didn't look too different then than she did now – tired, frazzled and deeply unhappy. She was younger. They were both younger. He had more hair then.

It was the end of May. George was twenty-two, a postgraduate and Rhodes Scholar at the University of Oxford. He'd come to London, having found work at a local law firm. After college he planned on moving there someday, even though his family had deep roots in East Sussex.

When he wasn't filing old case files or delivering mail (law students always had to do the shit work), he could be found wandering around Kensington Gardens. It was the perfect place to either meet new friends, or be perfectly alone. Usually he sought solitude. Possessing neither good looks nor a charming demeanor, he was easily ignored. The Italian Gardens were his normal haunt, as there was always an empty bench and blessed silence; but more importantly, that was where _she_ came in the afternoons.

She was the brightest part of his day, in spite of her aura of gloom and depression. There was nothing about her that didn't enthrall him. Even her blatant unhappiness drew him in. He didn't know that much about her, but what he did know was burned into his memory like a deep scar. George knew the shape of her perfect, oval face – the curve of her dark brows over her copper green eyes. The satin bow of her perpetually frowning mouth. The worn-out sneakers she always wore were as sexy as red stilettos. Everything she wore was beautiful, even though she usually dressed in old jeans and oversized sweaters.

The most she ever did was sit quietly on a bench, and stare at the fountains with no expression on her face. She never noticed his ardent staring. Why would she? She was absolutely beautiful, stunning even at her worst. Why would the prettiest, most popular girl in school ever bother with the bookworm?

But then the nights got later, and cooler too. She started staying for hours on end, with nothing to drink or eat. The circles under her eyes grew darker, and her cheeks thinned to the point of being cadaverous. His goddess was in the throes of a dangerous depression. But why? Magnificent women seemed incapable of unhappiness.

And then the rain came. One morning in June, fat and menacing rain clouds gathered over London. It was on that day George decided he would approach her. Though he'd never spoken to her, he knew well enough to trust that she would be there, without a raincoat or an umbrella. And just as he suspected, she was.

It didn't start raining until six. She'd been sitting there since four, expressionless and morose. And when it started pouring, she just kept on sitting. It was just unhealthy. She could die of hypothermia. Who on Earth would let her waste away like this?

Well, whoever they were, he wouldn't. Which is why, after giving her a half-hour to leave, he did the unthinkable.

He sat down next to her, and opened the umbrella over their heads. And until nine, they just sat there, in silence and in darkness. When she didn't chase him away, it was then he knew he loved her.

"He's never done anything like this before," Mary continued tiredly as she unzipped her dress, knocking him from his reverie. "I know he's protective of Lucy, but he's never been this violent, not with anyone."

"Do you think it might be because he walked in on them… you know," George replied amiably. Just seeing his wife calmed him down considerably. That such a diamond had chosen a rock like him was still a puzzle.

"No, it was more than that." Mary gave George this weary, worn look. It spoke volumes about just how disappointed she was with their son.

"Mary," George whispered as he placed his book on his bedside table. "We did not raise violent children. This is a fluke. Now come to bed."

Sighing, Mary stepped out of her dress, letting the pretty blue cocktail dress pool on the ground. George watched, entranced, as she mechanically stripped down to her skin. His eyes hungrily followed her every move, even when she reached for an awful flannel nightgown. Thankfully, she grabbed one of his old t-shirts instead, which left most of her legs bare. She may have been pushing fifty, but age had yet to humble her body – or his attraction to her.

"It's our job, George, our _job_ to clean up their messes. I'm half tempted to give that boy a spanking."

George grinned wolfishly. "I'm completely tempted to give _you_ a spanking."

Mary looked over her shoulder, smiling unenthusiastically.

"I'm too tired to play."

"As am I," George intoned gently as he pulled down the blankets of Mary's side of the bed. With a glowing smile, she turned off the light and crawled onto the mattress beside him. Immediately, he pulled her towards him until her back was flush against his chest. Sighing, he tangled his legs with hers and pressed his face into her throat.

"It's no longer our job to clean up their messes. They're adults. However, it is our job to be worried half to death, which we can do in the morning."

Pressing a quick kiss behind her ear, George tightened his arms around Mary and closed his eyes.

Even though a pedophile had defiled his beloved daughter, with his wife in his arms, he would sleep well.

He always did.

* * *

_The Origin of Love, Part Two – Lucy_

* * *

Susan fell asleep as soon as she'd crawled into bed. Why not? She was probably exhausted. First she wrapped her hair around a million curlers. Then she had to take off her false lashes and make-up. Next she lathered every inch of her skin with anti-aging lotion, which didn't make sense, since she wasn't even thirty. Her nightly regimen was more involved and strenuous than her exercise routine. Of course she would pass out, since she took nearly forty-five minutes. At the end of the day, Lucy barely had enough energy to put pajamas on.

Not tonight though. Tonight, she was positively **wired**. Everything set her off. She'd never experienced pain like this. Her jaw throbbed, the muscles in her back were stiff and sore, and anything that could annoy her senses did just that. The streetlamp outside her window was brighter than a supernova, and Susan's breathing sounded like a tornado.

But what hurt most of all was the need to be with Caspian. Being apart from him made her insides buzz and burn. She needed him. She need to be beside him, in his arms. Cuddling after sex was practically a prerequisite for them, but now it was absolutely necessary. Otherwise she felt she might die.

Her sister may have had the one key, but the lock opened from the inside. Quiet as death, Lucy slipped out of bed, and put on her terry cloth robe before tiptoeing to the door. Susan slept on, her slight snores covering up what little noise Lucy's feet made.

"Good night Susan," Lucy whispered, casting a quick glance over her shoulder before hesitantly pushing the door open. It gave a slight squeak, which too Lucy sounded like a fog horn. In reality, it was quieter than a mute mouse.

Lucy silently padded down the stairs, feeling like a stranger in her own home. There was only one place Caspian could safely hide in – her bedroom. Knowing that he was probably in her bed, between her sheets, made her insides flip pleasantly. She wondered if he felt this way when she wore his clothes.

She was almost home free when the devil himself cut her off at the pass.

Peter stood in the doorway of the kitchen, dressed in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants slung low on his hips. Her brother really was buff, all muscle, sinew and bone. He was broad-shouldered and narrow through his hips. The man had an eight pack. She didn't know that was possible.

He didn't look like a doctor, that was for sure. Doctors were kind and emotionally distant. Peter, even at his nicest, was neither. But no one could deny that he loved his family, especially her, or that he took care of his patients. He was fiercely passionate when it came to helping people. Any time someone under his care died, he took it personally. Thankfully, his patient mortality rate was low, which was odd for a trauma surgeon. Somehow, he always knew where a person was hurt, even before the paramedics could tell him.

However, for all of his love and disturbingly correct intuition, he had frightened and embarrassed her. And judging by the stern look in his eyes, he wasn't there to apologize. But neither was Lucy. There was no way she would ever try to justify her behavior to her older brother, not anymore. She loved him more than anything, but he had no right to scare her.

They stared one another down for a moment, before Lucy grew tired of him and walked away. Peter didn't follow her.

Light bled from underneath her door – Caspian was still awake, which was odd for him, but not unusual for vampires as a whole. Once, he'd told her that the majority of vampires were nocturnal. Some did indeed burst into flames whenever sunlight hit their skin, but they were usually reckless and newly turned. Most of them just liked the darkness because of their hypersensitive vision. Too much light was hard on their retinas, so it was just easier to operate at night.

Standing there, hesitant to enter her own room, Lucy prayed that he was awake for the same reason as hers, that he needed her more than he needed blood.

"I can hear you, you know," came his soft voice as light flooded her vision. Gasping, she blinked away the pain and surprise, Caspian's body and face coming into a view as her vision adjusted to the sudden shock. Before she could though, she was being pulled into the room by the lapels of her bathrobe. A hungry mouth crashed against hers, stealing her breath and sanity. She heard the door close behind them, but her mind was too busy focusing on the hands sliding up and down her arms. Somehow, in a fraction of a second she was on the bed, with Caspian on top of her and her bathrobe gone. His lips slid along her jaw and down her neck, until his face was pressed tightly against her chest. Lucy slid her arms around his shoulders, savoring the warmth she found there.

Caspian kept her pinned there for a moment before he rolled them onto their sides. With one hand, he swung her legs over his hip, and with the other he stroked her back. For some minutes, they laid there, simply looking at each other. Caspian's eyes were black and bottomless, and focused solely on hers.

He'd never looked younger, not that he ever looked old. He was perpetually twenty-eight, after all. But he'd turned twenty-eight in a time where living to thirty-five was a miracle. Naturally, his face would show some wear and tear, mostly in his eyes. There was the promise of crow's feet, but they would never come. Mostly, his age showed in the way he carried himself, the mature self-confidence and unending wisdom. When he wasn't being a total moron, he was contemplative and ancient. She saw his age because she knew he was old.

Not tonight. Tonight he looked like a teenager, complete with a shy grin. He didn't look too much older than her, in body and spirit.

"Is it always like this?" she whispered as she pressed herself closer, her hands pressing against his smooth, hard chest. Somehow, he'd retrieved a pair of cotton sweatpants and a black t-shirt. How he'd snuck them away was beyond her.

"When we're together it will be."

It would be another three hours before their goofy afterglow wore off. Three long hours of sighing, giggling, quiet words of love, and lots of snuggling.

All of which Peter could hear.

* * *

And this is the part where you review. I did my job. You do yours.


	10. The Origin of Love, Part Three

_The Origin of Love, Part Three – Peter_

* * *

"Is it always like this?" he heard her ask breathlessly, her heart hammering in her chest. The muffled rumpling of sheets as they leaned into one another was loud and grating on his ears. Their whispering filled the halls like the voices of ghosts. Lucy's laughter was a healing balm, while Caspian's was a knife in his heart.

That _monster_. That _demon_. That _**plague upon humanity**_ was sharing his sister's bed. He was wrapped around her, like a ravenous python. And she loved every minute of it. She sought him out, even after he'd… after she'd let him…

Peter shook his head forcefully, his hands fisted tightly in the hair falling around his temples. He hadn't left the kitchen. He wouldn't, not when that thing was trapping his sister with his lies and tricks.

The look she'd given him as she passed cut through his heart like a red-hot poker. It was just so hurt and betrayed. He'd done that to her.

Oh, if only she knew why he hated Caspian. Then she would hate him too, and he'd be gone from their lives. Things would go back to normal.

Well, as normal as his life would ever be.

The two love birds giggled one more time, and then the light clicked off. She said goodnight, he said I love you, and then there was silence.

Peter wished they were making noise, because while Lucy was only soundless in sleep, Caspian could be quiet any time he wanted to.

* * *

_The Origin of Love, Part Three – Caspian_

* * *

"Goodnight," Lucy whispered as her eyelashes came to rest against her cheeks. She rolled onto her opposite side, presenting her back to him. Caspian's smile was as wide as the Nile. Somebody wanted some spooning.

"I love you," he replied as he pulled her against his chest, his cheek rested against her now dry hair. He felt her heartbeat flutter through her back and into his own chest. As it slowed and steadied, he knew she was asleep.

Immediately, his smile fell. Peter was in the kitchen. He had been for three hours, still and silent, like a talented, perfect predator. He was just waiting for something to set him off, like a patient snake waiting for a mouse to cross its path.

_He who made kittens put snakes in the grass._

Caspian's eyes hardened, even as he pressed quiet kisses to Lucy's ear.

No one would touch his kitten.

Not even that goddamned hellhound she called a brother.

* * *

_The Origin of Love, Part Three – Mary_

* * *

Her husband's grip was warm and firm, even in sleep. He'd always been afraid of losing her, no matter how tightly she clung to him. George was her lighthouse, her foundation and in the winter, he hot water bottle. And while the warmth of his body behind her was reassuring, nothing could get her to relax at that moment.

How could she relax knowing that Peter had tried to attack Caspian – that he'd almost succeeded? In the short time she'd personally known Caspian, she'd never misjudged his potency. Even when he looked ill, which was often, there was a certain power in his muscles. His shoulders were always tight with barely contained tension. He was lean to be sure, but she knew he possessed unnatural strength and catlike grace. Caspian moved with fluid and measured precision, but every now and then, he would shift quicker than her eye could follow. He practically teleported any time Lucy called for him.

Maybe he'd been a sprinter in high school. She wouldn't put it past someone so lean and elegant.

Then there was Peter, her beloved baby boy, her poor rabbit, her oldest son. He'd never made a wrong decision in his entire life. He thought out everything, from prologue to epilogue. It was as if he was incapable of making rash decisions. They'd never had any trouble with Peter. It was unbelievable, really. Even as a baby, he seemed to be above crying and wailing. His first steps were dignified strides. She and George had gotten so lucky with their first child.

Well, he was George's first child. Mary would never know her first child, and she was glad for it. Not keeping it was in the best interest of everyone. If she had, she'd have never met George. Her four wonderful children wouldn't exist. There would be no warm arms to hold her at night. She realized that now. In giving up her first child, she'd cheated her way out of miserable fate.

How long she could keep cheating fate was a mystery.

* * *

'The Origin of Love', by Hedwig and the Angry Inch

_When the earth was still flat,  
And clouds made of fire,  
And mountains stretched up to the sky,  
Sometimes higher._

_Folks roamed the earth,  
Like big rolling kegs.  
They had two sets of arms.  
They had two sets of legs._

_They had two faces peering  
Out of one giant head,  
So they could watch all around them  
As they talked while they read._

_And they never knew nothing of love.  
It was before the origin of love._

_The origin of love_

_And there were three sexes then,  
One that looked like two men  
Glued up back to back,  
They're called the children of the sun._

_And similar in shape and girth  
Was the children of the earth.  
They looked like two girls  
Rolled up in one._

_And the children of the moon  
Was like a fork shoved on a spoon.  
They was part sun, part earth  
Part daughter, part son._

_The origin of love_

_Now the gods grew quite scared  
Of our strength and defiance  
And Thor said, "I'm gonna kill them all with my hammer,  
Like I killed the giants."_

_But Zeus said, "No,  
You better let me use my lightening, like scissors,  
Like I cut the legs off the whales,  
Dinosaurs into lizards."_

_And Then he grabbed up some bolts,  
He let out a laugh,  
Said, "I'll split them right down the middle.  
Gonna cut them right up in half."_

_And the storm clouds gathered above,  
Into great balls of fire._

_And then fire shot down  
From the sky in bolts  
Like shining blades  
Of a knife._

_And it ripped  
Right through the flesh  
Of the children of the sun  
And the moon  
And the earth._

_And some Indian god  
Sewed the wound up into a hole,  
Pulled it round to our belly  
To remind us of the price we pay._

_And Osiris and the gods of the Nile  
Gathered up a big storm  
To blow a hurricane,  
To scatter us away,  
In a flood of wind and rain,  
And a sea of tidal waves,  
To wash us all away._

_And if we don't behave,  
They'll cut us down again,  
And we'll be hopping round on one foot,  
Looking through one eye._

_The last time I saw you  
We'd just split in two.  
You was looking at me.  
I was looking at you._

_You had a way so familiar,  
I could not recognize,  
'Cause you had blood on your face;  
I had blood in my eyes._

_But I could swear by your expression  
That the pain down in your soul  
Was the same as the one down in mine._

_That's the pain,  
That cuts a straight line  
Down through the heart;  
We call it love._

_We wrapped our arms around each other,  
Tried to shove ourselves back together.  
We was making love,  
Making love._

_It was a cold dark evening,  
Such a long time ago,  
When by the mighty hand of Jove._

_It was the sad story,  
How we became  
Lonely two-legged creatures._

_The story,  
The origin of love.  
That's the origin of love._

_The origin of love._


End file.
